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COLLECTED     POEMS 


WILLIAM  WATS  ON- 
MDCCOXCVIII- 


THE  COLLECTED  POEMS 


OF 


WILLIAM    WATSON 


JOHN  LANE 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


M  DCCC  XCIX 


Copyright,  iSgs,  i8g4 
By  Macmillan  &  Company 

Copyright,  l8g4 
By  Stone  &  Kimball 

Copyright,  i8g6,  i8g7,  i8g8 
By  John  Lane 

Copyright,  l8gg 
By  John  Lane 


The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 

THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

THE   EARL  OF  ROSEBERY,  K.G.,  K.T. 

THESE   POEMS 

ARE  COLLECTIVELY  DEDICATED 

IN     GRATEFUL     MEMORY 

OF     THE     GENEROUS     APPRECIATION 

WITH    WHICH    HE    HAS    ALREADY 

DISTINGUISHED     THEM 


""  ENGLISH 


PREFATORY 

In  preparing  this  Collected  Edition  of  his 
poems  the  Author  has  excluded  the  whole  of 
his  earliest  volume,  "  'The  Prince's  ^est " 
(1880)  ;  has  omitted  some  three-fifths  of  his 
second  volume,  ^^ Epigrams''  (1884);  and  has 
included  the  greater  part  of  the  contents  of 
all  his  subsequent  volumes  of  verse,  with  the 
exception  of  the  "  Tear  of  Shame,"  here  repre- 
sented by  a  small  selection,  and  "  The  Eloping 
Angels,"  omitted  altogether. 

The  seven  sonnets  here  given,  from  a  sequence 
of  fifteen  published  in  June  1885  under  the 
title  of"  Ver  Tenebrosum,"  need  not  be  taken  as 
in  each  case  accurately  reflecting  his  present 
opinions  upon  events  of  that  year,  but  are  re- 
tained for    the   sake    of  such  purely  literary 


PREFATORY 

interest  as  they  may  possess  for  certain  of  his 
readers. 

In  a  few  other  poems,  widely  separated  in 
date  of  production,  and  relating  to  matters  of 
deeper  import  than  that  of  political  controversy 
or  international  affairs,  he  can  lay  claim  to  no 
obstinate  consistency  of  view ;  and  if  some  of 
his  readers  are  disposed  to  regret  that  while 
he  has  grown  older  his  faith  has  not  become 
more  buoyant,  he  can  only  ask  them  to  extend 
a  kindly  tolerance  to  one  who,  even  as  they,  is 
sincere  in  his  quest  of  I'ruth. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Wordsworth's  grave 1 

shellet's  centenary 13 

lachrym^  musarum 20 

to  edward  dowden 27 

EPIGRAM 31 

AUTUMN 32 

WORLD-STRANGENESS 35 

EPIGRAM 37 

THE    MOCK   SELF 38 

ENGLAND   AND   HER   COLONIES 39 

TO   A   POET 41 

"when  birds  were  songless" 42 

felicity 43 

in  laleham  churchyard 45 

life  without  health 50 

the  flight  of  youth    .......  51 

EPIGRAM     .            .            ,            = 52 

"  UNDER   THE    DARK   AND   PINY   STEEP  "             ...  53 

"  NAY,    BID   ME    NOT    MY    CARES    TO    LEAVE "      .            .            .  54 

A    PRELUDE 55 

ON   LANDOr's   "HELLENICS" 56 

ix 


CONTENTS 

FAGK 

ENGLAND   MY   MOTHER 57 

"  SCENTLESS   FLOw'kS   I   BEING   THEE  "                ...  64 

SHELLEY   AND   HARRIET 65 

"  ARE    THESE ARE    THESE    INDEED  "       ....  66 

THE    raven's    SHADOW 67 

ANTONY   AT   ACTIU3I 71 

THE   GLIMPSE 72 

TO   A    SEABIRD 73 

"well   HE    SLUMBERS,   GREATLY    SLAIN  "           ...  74 

LUX  PERDITA                75 

"the    THINGS    THAT   ARE    MORE    EXCELLENT"            .            .  76 

EPIGRAM 80 

THE   GREAT   MISGIVING 81 

TO    LORD    TENNYSON 83 

THE    KEY-BOARD 84 

AFTER   READING   "  TAMBURLAINE   THE   GREAT "        .           .  86 

TO   A   FRIEND 87 

EPIGRAM 88 

SONNETS   FROM   "  VER  TENEBROSUM  "  — 

THE    SOUDANESE 91 

THE    ENGLISH    DEAD 92 

RESTORED   ALLEGIANCE 93 

GORDON 94 

FOREIGN   MENACE 95 

HOME    ROOTEDNESS 96 

OUR  EASTERN   TREASURE 97 

NIGHTMARE 98 

ART 99 

THE    LUTE-PLAYER 100 

X 


CONTENTS 

FAOB 

beauty's  metempsychosis 101 

reluctant  summer 102 

KEATS 103 

AT    THE    GRAVE    OP   CHARLES    LAMB,    IN    EDMONTON  .         104 

TO    AUSTIN    DOBSON 105 

LINES    IN    A   FLYLEAF    OF    "  CHRISTABEL  "  .  .  .107 

A   GOLDEN   HOUR 108 

BYRON   THE   VOLUPTUARY  .  ...  .  .  .110 

THE   FUGITIVE    IDEAL Ill 

COLUMBUS 112 

TO   JAMES   BROMLEY 11-i 

THE    SAINT    AND    THE    SATYR      .  .  .  .  .  .117 

"thy   voice   from    INMOST   DREAMLAND   CALLS  "  .  .         119 

THE    CATHEDRAL   SPIRE 120 

A    DEDICATION 121 

THE   DREAM   OF   MAN .125 

EPIGRAM 138 

VITA   NUOVA 139 

THE   FIRST   SKYLARK   OF   SPRING 141 

NIGHT   ON   CURBAR   EDGE 145 

EPIGRAM 1-16 

ODE   TO   LICINIUS 147 

THE   PLAY   OF   "  KING   LEAR  " 150 

TELL    ME    NOT   NOW 151 

THE    FATHER   OF   THE    FOREST 153 

EPIGRAM 164 

LINES    WRITTEN    IN   RICHMOND   PARK         .  .  .  .165 

THE   SOVEREIGN   POET 166 

THE   RUINED   ABBEY 167 

xi 


CONTENTS 

FAOR 

SONNET 168 

ODE    TO   ARTHUR   CHRISTOPHER  BENSON  .  .  .169 

HYMN   TO   THE    SEA 173 

EPIGRAM 183 

FRANCE 184 

A    RIDDLE    OF    THE    THAMES 185 

THE    tear's    MINSTRELSY 187 

A    STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 188 

TO   RICHARD   HOLT   HUTTON 193 

EPIGRAM 195 

DOMINE,    QUO   VADIS  ? 196 

TO    AUBREY    DE    TERE 202 

CHRISTMAS   DAY 203 

TO   A   LADY   RECOVERED   FROM   A   DANGEROUS  SICKNESS  204 

A   NEW  NATIONAL   ANTHEM 205 

EPIGRAM 207 

SONNET 208 

"l    DO   NOT   ask" 209 

ODE    IN   MAY 210 

SONG 214 

THE   WORLD   IN   ARMOUR 216 

TO   A    FRIEND 219 

AN    EPITAPH 220 

PEACE   AND  WAR 221 

TO  ^                  .         .  222 

SONG   IN   IMITATION   OF   THE    ELIZABETHANS               .           .  223 

EPIGRAM .            .  225 

THE    FRONTIER 226 

THE   LURE            .........  227 

xii 


CONTENTS 

Paob 

EPIGRAM 228 

the  protest 229 

"since  life  is  rough" 231 

the  tomb  of  burns 232 

EPIGRAM 242 

SONNETS,  ETC.,  FROM  "  THE  TEAR  OF  SHAME  "  — 

TO  A  LADY 245 

THE    TIRED    LION 246 

THE    KNELL    OF    CHIVALRY 247 

A   TRIAL   OF   ORTHODOXY 248 

TO   THE    SULTAN 249 

ON     THE     REPORTED     EXPULSION    FROM    FRANCE    OF 
AHMED     RIZA,     A     DISAFFECTED     SUBJECT     OP 

THE    SULTAN 250 

ON  A   CERTAIN    EUROPEAN    ALLIANCE          .            .            .  251 

TO   OUR    SOVEREIGN    LADY 252 

EUROPE    AT    THE    PLAY 253 

ESTRANGEMENT 255 

EPIGRAM 256 

THE    LOST    EDEN          ........  257 

EPIGRAM 259 

INVENTION 260 

EPIGRAM 261 

AN   INSCRIPTION   AT   WINDERMERE               ....  262 

SONG 264 

EPIGRAM 265 

ELUSION 266 

EPIGRAM 267 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

FAGB 

TOO  LATE 268 

THET   AND   WB 270 

EPIGRAM 271 

THE    HEIGHTS   AND   THE    DEEPS 272 

THE   captive's   DREAM 274 

TO   MRS.    HERBERT   STUDD 275 

THE    UNKNOWN   GOD 277 

TO    THOMAS   BAILEY    ALDRICH 282 

THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD         .             .            .            .            .            .  283 

AFTER    DEFEAT 292 

TO   THE    LADY    KATHARINE    MANNERS         ....  294 

JUBILEE    NIGHT   IN    WESTMORLAND               .            .            .            .  296 

BACH,    IN   THE    FUGUES    AND   PRELUDES               .            .           .  299 

APOLOGIA 300 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

I 

'T^HE  old  rude  church,  with  bare,  bald  tower,  is  here; 

Beneath  its  shadow  high-born  Rotha  flows  ; 
Rotha,  remembering  well  who  slumbers  near. 

And  with  cool  murmur  lulling  his  repose. 

Rotha,  remembering  well  who  slumbers  near. 

His  hills,  his  lakes,  his  streams  are  with  him  yet. 
Surely  the  heart  that  read  her  own  heart  clear 

Nature  forgets  not  soon  :  'tis  we  forget. 

We  that  with  vagrant  soul  his  fixity 

Have  slighted ;  faithless,  done  his  deep  faith  wrong 
Left  him  for  poorer  loves,  and  bowed  the  knee 

To  misbegotten  strang-e  new  gods  of  sonc. 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

Yet,  led  by  hollow  ghost  or  beckoning  elf 
Far  from  her  homestead  to  the  desert  bourn. 

The  vagrant  soul  returning  to  herself 
Wearily  wise,  must  needs  to  him  return. 

To  him  and  to  the  powers  that  with  him  dwell  : — 
Inflowings  that  divulged  not  Avhence  they  came 

And  that  secluded  spirit  unknowable, 

The  mystery  we  make  darker  with  a  name  ; 

The  Somewhat  which  we  name  but  cannot  know, 
Ev'n  as  we  name  a  star  and  only  see 

His  quenchless  flashings  forth,  which  ever  show 
And  ever  hide  him,  and  which  are  not  he. 


n 

Poet  who  sleepest  by  this  wandering  wave  ! 

When  thoii  wast  born,  what  birlh-gift  hadst  thou 
then  ? 
To  thee  what  wealth  was  that  the  Immortals  gave, 

The  wealth  thou  gavest  in  thy  turn  to  men  ? 

2 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

Not  Milton's  keen,  translunar  music  thine  ; 

Not    Shakespeare's    cloudless,    boundless    human 
view ; 
Not  Shelley's  flush  of  rose  on  peaks  divine  ; 

Nor  yet  the  wizard  twilight  Coleridge  knew. 

What  hadst  thou  that  could  make  so  large  amends 
For  all  thou  hadst  not  and  tliy  peers  possessed, 

Motion  and  fire,  swift  means  to  radiant  ends  ? — 
Thou  hadst,  for  weary  feet,  the  gift  of  rest. 

Fi-om  Shelley's  dazzUng  glow  or  thunderous  haze, 
From  Byron's  tempest-anger,  tempest-mirth. 

Men    turned    to    thee    and    found — not    blast    and 
blaze. 
Tumult  of  tottering  heavens,  but  peace  on  earth. 

Nor  peace  that  grows  by  Lethe,  scentless  flower, 

There  in  white  languors  to  decline  and  cease  ; 

But  peace  whose  names  are  also  rapture,  power, 

Clear  sight,  and  love  :  for  these  are  parts  of  peace. 
3 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 


III 

I  hear  it  vouched  the  Muse  is  with  us  still ; — 
If  less  divinely  frenzied  than  of  yore, 

In  lieu  of  feelings  she  has  wondrous  skill 
To  simulate  emotion  felt  no  more. 

Not  such  the  authentic  Presence  pure,  that  made 
This  valley  vocal  in  the  great  days  gone  ! — 

In  his  great  days,  while  yet  the  spring-time  played 
About  him,  and  the  mighty  morning  shone. 

No  word-mosaic  artificer,  he  sang 
A  lofty  song  of  lowly  weal  and  dole. 

Right  from  the  heai't,  right  to  the  heart  it  sjirang, 
Or  from  the  soul  leapt  instant  to  the  soul. 

He  felt  the  charm  of  childhood,  grace  of  youth. 

Grandeur  of  age,  insisting  to  be  sung. 

The  impassioned  argument  was  simple  truth 

Half-wondering  at  its  own  melodious  tongue. 
4 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

Impassioned  ?  ay,  to  the  song's  ecstatic  core  ! 

But  far  removed  were  clangour,  storm  and  feud 
For  plenteous  health  was  his,  exceeding  store 

Of  joy,  and  an  impassioned  quietude. 


IV 

A  hundred  years  ere  he  to  manhood  came. 

Song  from  celestial  heights  had  wandei-ed  down. 

Put  oflf"  her  robe  of  sunlight,  dew  and  flame. 

And  donned  a  modish  dress  to  charm  the  Town. 

Thenceforth  she  but  festooned  the  porch  of  things ; 

Apt  at  life's  lore,  incurious  what  life  meant. 
Dextrous  of  hand,  she  struck  her  lute's  few  strings  ; 

Ignobly  perfect,  barrenly  content. 

Unflushed  with  ardour  and  unblanched  with  awe. 

Her  lips  in  profitless  derision  curled. 

She  saw  with  dull  emotion — if  she  saw — 

The  vision  of  the  glory  of  the  world. 
5 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

The    huiiiiiii   masque    she    vvateliedj   witli   tireainless 
eyes 
In    whose    clear    shallows    lurked    no    trembling 
shade  : 
The  stars,  unkenned  by  her,  might  set  and  rise. 
Unmarked  by  her^  the  daisies  bloom  and  fade. 


The  age  grew  sated  with  her  sterile  wit. 

Herself  waxed  weary  on  her  loveless  throne. 
Men  felt  life's  tide,  the  sweep  and  surge  of  it, 

And  craved  a  living  voice,  a  natural  tone. 


For  none  the  less,  though  song  was  but  half  true, 
The  world  lay  common,  one  abounding  theme. 

Man  joyed  and  wept,  and  tate  was  ever  new, 
And  love  was  sweet,  life  real,  death  no  dream. 

In  sad  stern  verse  the  rugged  scholar-sage 

Bemoaned  his  toil  unvalued,  youth  uncheered. 

His  numbers  wore  the  vesture  of  the  age. 

But,  'neath  it  beating,  the  great  heart  was  heard. 
6 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

From  dewy  j)astures,  upIuiKls  sweet  witli  thyme, 
A  virgin  breeze  freshened  the  jaded  day. 

It  wafted  Collins'  lonely  vesper-chiine. 

It  breathed  abroad  the  frugal  note  of  Gray. 

It  Muttered  here  and  there,  nor  swept  in  vain 
The  dusty  haunts  where  futile  echoes  dwell, — 

Then,  in  a  cadence  soft  as  summer  rain, 

And  sad  from  Auburn  voiceless,  drooped  and  fell. 

It  drooped  and  fell,  and  one  'neath  northern  skies. 
With  southern  Iieart,  who  tilled  his  father's  field, 

Found  Poesy  a-dying,  bade  her  rise 

And    touch    quick    Nature's    hem    and   go     forth 
healed. 

On  life's  broad    plain    the    ploughman's   conquering 
share 
Upturned  the  fallow  lands  of  truth  anew, 
And  o'er  the  formal  garden's  trim  parterre 

The  peasant's  team  a  ruthless  furrow  drew. 

7 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

Bright  was  his  going  forth,  but  clouds  ere  long 

Whelmed   him  ;   in   gloom   his    radiance   set,   and 
those 

Twin  morning  stars  of  the  new  century's  song. 
Those  morning  stars  that  sang  together,  rose. 

In  elvish  speech  the  Dreamer  told  his  tale 

Of  marvellous  oceans  swept  by  fateful  wings. — 

The  Seer  strayed  not  from  earth's  human  pale. 
But  the  mysterious  face  of  common  things 

He  mirrored  as  the  moon  in  Rydal  Mere 

Is  mirrored,  when  the  breathless  night  hangs  blue  : 

Strangely  I'emote  she  seems  and  wondrous  near. 
And  by  some  nameless  difference  born  anew. 


V 

Peace — peace — and  rest !     Ah,  how  the  lyre  is  loth, 

Or  powerless  now,  to  give  what  all  men  seek  ! 
Either  it  deadens  with  ignoble  sloth 

Or  deafens  with  shrill  tumult,  loudly  weak. 

8 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

Where  is  the  singer  whose  large  notes  and  clear 
Can  heal  and  arm  and  plenish  and  sustain  ? 

Lo^  one  with  empty  music  floods  the  ear, 

And  one,  the  heart  refreshing,  tires  the  brain. 

And  idly  tuneful,  the  loquacious  throng- 
Flutter  and  twitter,  prodigal  of  time, 

And  little  masters  make  a  toy  of  song 

Till  grave  men  weary  of  the  sound  of  rhyme. 

And  some  go  prankt  in  faded  antique  dress, 
Abhorring  to  be  hale  and  glad  and  free  ; 

And  some  parade  a  conscious  naturalness, 
The  scholar's  not  the  child's  simplicity. 

Enough  ; — and  wisest  who  from  words  forbear. 

The  kindly  river  I'ails  not  as  it  glides  ; 
And  suave  and  charitable,  the  winning  air 

Chides  not  at  all,  or  only  him  who  chides. 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

VI 

Nature  !  we  storm  thine  ear  with  choric  notes. 

Thou   answerest   through   the  cahn    great   nights 
and  days, 
"  Laud  me  who  will  :  not  tuneless  are  your  throats  ; 

Yet  if  ye  paused  I  should  not  miss  the  praise." 

We  falter,  half-rebuked,  and  sing  again. 

We  chant  thy  desertness  and  haggard  gloom, 
Or  with  thy  splendid  wrath  inHate  the  strain. 

Or  touch  it  with  thy  colour  and  perfume. 

One,  his  melodious  blood  aflame  for  thee. 

Wooed  with  fiei'ce  lust,  his  hot  heart  world-defiled. 

One,  with  the  upward  eye  of  infancy, 

Looked  in  thy  face,  and  felt  himself  thy  child. 

Thee  he  approached  without  distrust  or  dread — 

Beheld  thee  tlu'oned,  an  awful  queen,  above — 

Climbed  to  thy  lap  and  merely  laid  his  head 

Against  thy  warm  wild  heart  of  mother-love. 
10 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

He  heard  that  vast  heai't  beating — thou  didst  press 
Thy  child  so  close^  and  lov'dst  him  unaware. 

Thy  beauty  gladdened  him ;  yet  he  scarce  less 
Had  loved  thee,  had  he  never  found  thee  fair  ! 

For  thou  wast  not  as  legendary  lands 

To  which  with  curious  eyes  and  ears  we  roam. 

Nor  wast  thou  as  a  fane  'mid  solemn  sands^ 

Where    palmers     halt     at     evening.      Thou     wast 
home. 

And  here^  at  home,  still  bides  he  ;  but  he  sleeps; 

Not  to  be  wakened  even  at  thy  word  ; 
Though  we,  vague  dreamers,  dream  he  somewhere 
keeps 

An  ear  still  open  to  thy  voice  still  heard, — 

Thy  voice,  as  heretofore,  about  him  blown. 
For  ever  blown  about  his  silence  now  ; 

Thy  voice,  though  deeper,  yet  so  like  his  own 

That  almost,   when   he    sang,   we    deemed    'twas 

thou  ! 

11 


WORDSWORTH'S    GRAVE 

VII 

Behind  Helm  Crag  and  Silver  Howe  the  sheen 
Of  the  retreating  day  is  less  and  less. 

Soon  will  the  lordlier  summits^  here  unseen. 
Gather  the  night  about  their  nakedness. 

Tlie  half-heard  bleat  of  sheep  comes  from  the  hill. 

Faint  sounds  of  childish  play  are  in  the  air. 
The  river  murmurs  past.     All  else  is  still. 

The  very  graves  seem  stiller  than  they  were. 

Afar  though  nation  be  on  nation  hurled. 

And  life  with  toil  and  ancient  pain  de{)ressed, 

Here  one  may  scarce  believe  the  whole  wide  world 
Is  not  at  peace,  and  all  man's  heart  at  rest. 

Rest !  'twas  the  gift  he  gave  ;  and  peace  !  the  shade 
He  spread,  for  spirits  fevered  with  the  sun. 

To  him  his  bounties  are  come  back — here  laid 
In  rest,  in  peace,  his  labour  nobly  done. 

1884-87. 

12 


SHELT.EY'S    CENTENARY 


SHELLEY'S  CENTENARY 

(4th  August  1892) 

YY^iTHIN  a  narrow  span  of  time, 
Three  princes  of  the  realm  of  rhyme, 
At  heifi^ht  of  youth  or  manhood's  prime 

From  earth  took  winjv. 
To  join  the  fellowship  sublime 

Who,  dead,  yet  sing. 

He,  first,  his  earliest  wreath  who  wove 

Of  laurel  a;rown  in  Latmian  grove, 

Con(]ucred  by  pain  and  hajiless  love 

Found  calmer  home. 

Roofed  by  the  heaven  that  glows  above 

Eternal  Rome. 
13 


SHELLEY'S    CENTENARY 

A  fierier  soul,  its  own  fierce  prey, 
And  cumbered  with  more  mortal  clay. 
At  Missolonglii  flamed  away, 

And  left  the  air 
Reverberating  to  this  day 

Its  loud  despair. 


Alike  remote  from  Byron's  scorn 
And  Keats's  magic  as  of  morn 
Bursting  for  ever  newly-born 

On  forests  old. 
To  wake  a  hoary  world  forlorn 

With  touch  of  gold, 


Shelley,  the  cloud-begot,  who  grew 

Nourished  on  air  and  sun  and  dew, 

Into  that  Essence  whence  he  drew 

His  life  and  lyre 

Was  fittingly  resolved  anew 

Through  wave  and  fire. 
14 


SHELLEY'S    CENTENARY 

'Twas  like  his  rapid  soul  !     'Tvvas  meet 
That  he,  who  brookctl  not  Time's  slow  feet, 
With  passage  thus  abrupt  and  fleet 

Should  hurry  hence^ 
Eager  the  Great  Perhaps  to  greet 

With  Why  ?  and  Whence  ? 


Impatient  of  the  world's  fixed  way, 
He  ne'er  could  suffer  God's  delay, 
But  all  the  future  in  a  day 

Would  build  divine, 
And  the  whole  past  in  ruins  lay, 

An  emptied  shrine. 


Vain  vision  !  but  the  glow,  the  fire. 

The  passion  of  benign  desire. 

The  glorious  yearning,  lift  him  higher 

Than  many  a  soul 

That  mounts  a  million  paces  nigher 

Its  meaner  goal. 
15 


SHELLEY'S    CENTENARY 

And  power  is  his,  if  naught  besides, 
In  that  thin  ether  where  he  rides, 
Above  the  roar  of  human  tides 

To  ascend  afar, 
Lost  in  a  storm  of  light  that  hides 

His  dizzy  car. 


Below,  the  unhasting  world  toils  on. 
And  here  and  there  are  victories  won, 
Some  dragon  slain,  some  justice  done, 

While,  thi'ough  the  skies, 
A  meteor  rushing  on  the  sun, 

He  flares  and  dies. 


But,  as  he  cleaves  yon  ether  clear, 

Notes  from  the  unattempted  Sphere 

He  scatters  to  the  enchanted  ear 

Of  earth's  dim  throng. 

Whose  dissonance  doth  more  endenr 

The  showering  song. 
16 


SHELLEY'S    CENTENARY 

111  other  shapes  than  he  forecast 

The  world  is  inoukled  :  his  fierce  blast^ — 

His  wild  assault  upon  the  Past, — 

These  things  are  vain  ; 
Revolt  is  transient :  what  must  last 

Is  that  pure  strain. 


Which  seems  the  wandering  voices  blent 

Of  every  virgin  element, — 

A  sound  from  ocean  caverns  sent, — 

An  airy  call 
From  the  pavilioned  firmament 

O'erdominff  all. 


And  in  this  world  of  worldlings,  where 

Souls  rust  in  apathy,  and  ne'er 

A  great  emotion  shakes  the  air, 

And  life  flags  tame. 

And  rare  is  noble  impulse,  rare 

The  impassioned  aim, 

17  B 


SHELLEY'S    CENTENARY 

'Tis  no  mean  fortune  to  have  heard 
A  singer  vvho^  if  errors  blurred 
His  sight,  had  yet  a  spirit  stirred 

By  vast  desire, 
And  ardour  fledging  the  swift  word 

With  plumes  of  fire. 


A  creature  of  impetuous  breath. 
Our  torpor  deadlier  than  death 
He  knew  not ;  whatsoe'er  he  saitli 

Flashes  with  life  : 
He  spurreth  men,  he  quickeneth 

To  splendid  strife. 


And  in  his  gusts  of  song  he  brings 

Wild  odours  shaken  from  strange  wings, 

And  unfamiliar  whisperings 

From  far  lips  blown. 

While  all  the  rapturous  hear  t  of  things 

Throbs  through  his  own, — 
18 


SHELLEY'S    CENTENARY 

His  own  that  from  the  burning  pyre 
One  who  had  loved  his  wind-swept  lyre 
Out  of  the  shai-p  teeth  of  the  fire 

Unmolten  drew^ 
Beside  the  sea  that  in  her  ire 

Smote  him  and  slew. 


19 


LACHRYM^    MUSARUM 


LACHRYMiE    MUSARUM 

(6th  October  1892) 

T  OVV,  like  another's,  lies  the  laurelled  head  : 
The  life  that  seemed  a  perfect  song  is  o'er  : 
Carry  the  last  great  bard  to  his  last  bed. 
Land  that  he  loved,  thy  noblest  voice  is  mute. 
Land  that  he  loved,  that  loved  him  !  nevermore 
Meadow  of  thine,  smooth  lawn  or  wild  sea-shore. 
Gardens  of  odorous  bloom  and  tremulous  fruit. 
Or  woodlands  old,  like  Druid  couches  spread. 
The  master's  feet  shall  tread. 
Death's  little  rift  hath  rent  the  faultless  lute  : 
The  singer  of  undying  songs  is  dead. 

Lo,  in  this  season  pensive-hued  and  grave. 

While  fades  and  falls  the  doomed,  reluctant  leaf 
20 


LACHRYM^    MUSARUxM 

From  witliered  Eai-th's  fantastic  coronal, 

With  wandering  sighs  of  forest  antl  of  wave 

Mingles  the  murmur  of  a  people's  grief 

For  him  whose  leaf  shall  fade  not^  neither  fall. 

He    hath    fared    forth,    beyond    these    suns    and 

showers. 
For  us,  the  autumn  glow,  the  autumn  flame. 
And  soon  the  winter  silence  shall  be  ours  : 
Him  the  eternal  spi'ing  of  fadeless  fame 
Crowns  with  no  mortal  flowers. 

What  needs  his  laurel  our  ephemeral  tears. 
To  save  from  visitation  of  decay  ? 
Not  in  this  temporal  light  alone,  that  bay- 
Blooms,  nor  to  perishable  mundane  ears 
Sings  he  with  lips  of  transitory  clay. 
Rapt  though  he  be  from  us, 
Virgil  salutes  him,  and  Theocritus ; 
Catullus,  mightiest-brained  Lucretius,  each 
Greets  him,  their  brother,  on  the  Stygian  beach ; 
Proudly  a  gaunt  I'ight  hand  doth  Dante  reach  ; 

Milton  and  Wordsworth  bid  him  welcome  home  ; 
21 


LACHRYM^    MUSARUM 

KeatSj  on  his  lips  the  eternal  rose  of  youth, 

Doth  in  the  name  of  Beauty  that  is  Truth 

A  kinsman's  love  beseech  ; 

Coleridge^  his  locks  aspersed  with  fairy  foam. 

Calm  Spenser,  Chaucer  suave, 

His  equal  friendship  crave  : 

And  godlike  spirits  hail  him  guest,  in  speech 

Of  Athens,  Florence,  Weimar,  Stivatford,  Rome. 


He  hath  returned  to  regions  whence  he  came. 

Him  doth  the  spirit  divine 

Of  universal  loveliness  reclaim. 

All  nature  is  his  shrine. 

Seek  him  henceforward  in  the  wind  and  sea, 

In  earth's  and  air's  emotion  or  repose. 

In  every  stai-'s  august  serenity, 

And  in  the  rapture  of  the  flaming  rose. 

There  seek  him  if  ye  woidd  not  seek  in  vain, 

Thore,  in  the  rhythm  and  music  of  the  Whole ; 

Yea,  and  for  ever  in  the  human  soul 

Made  stronger  and  more  beauteous  by  his  strain. 
22 


LACHRYM^    MUSARUM 

For  lo  !  creation's  self  is  one  great  choir, 

And  what  is  nature's  order  but  the  rhyme 

Whereto  in  hoUest  unanimity 

All  things  with  all  things  move  unfalteringly, 

Infolded  and  communal  from  their  prime  ? 

Who  shall  expound  the  mystery  of  the  lyi-e  ? 

In  for  retreats  of  elemental  mind 

Obscurely  comes  and  goes 

The   imperative    breath    of   song,   that    as    the 

wind 

Is  trackless,  and  oblivious  whence  it  blows. 

Demand  of  lilies  wherefore  they  are  white, 

Extort  her  crimson  secret  from  the  rose, 

But  ask  not  of  the  Muse  that  she  disclose 

The  meaning  of  the  riddle  of  her  might  : 

Somewhat  of  all  things  sealed  and  i-econdite, 

Save  the  enigma  of  herself,  she  knows. 

The  master  could  not  tell,  with  all  his  lore. 

Wherefore    he    sang,   or  whence    the   mandate 

sped  : 

Ev'n  as  the  linnet  sings,  so  I,  he  said; — 

Ah,  rather  as  the  imperial  nightingale, 
23 


LACHRYMtE   musarum 

That  held  in  trance  the  ancient  Attic  shore, 
And  charms  the  ages  with  the  notes  that  o'er 
All  woodland  chants  immortally  prevail ! 
And  now,  from  our  vain  plaudits  greatly  fled, 
He  with  diviner  silence  dwells  instead, 
And  on  no  earthly  sea  with  transient  roar, 
Unto  no  earthly  airs,  he  trims  his  sail. 
But  far  beyond  our  vision  and  our  hail 
Is  heard  for  ever  and  is  seen  no  more. 

No  more,  O  never  now, 

Lord  of  the  lofty  and  the  tranquil  broAv 

Whereon  nor  snows  of  time 

Have  fall'n,  nor  wintry  rime, 

Shall  men  behold  thee,  sage  and  mage  sublime. 

Once,  in  his  youth  obscui'e. 

The  maker  of  this  verse,  which  shall  endure 

By  splendour  of  its  theme  that  cannot  die. 

Beheld  thee  eye  to  eye. 

And  touched  through  thee  the  hand 

Of  every  hero  of  thy  race  divine, 

Ev'n  to  the  sire  of  all  the  laurelled  line, 
24 


LACHRYM^    MUSARUM 

The  sightless  wanderer  on  the  Ionian  strand, 
With  soul  as  healthful  as  the  poignant  brine;, 
Wide  as  his  skies  and  radiant  as  his  seas, 
Starry  from  haunts  of  his  Familiars  nine, 
Glorious  Meeonides. 

Yea,  I  beheld  thee,  and  behold  thee  yet : 
Thou  hast  forgotten,  but  can  I  forget  ? 
The  accents  of  thy  pure  and  sovereign  tongue, 
Are  they  not  ever  goldenly  impressed 
On  memory's  palimpsest  ? 
I  see  the  wizard  locks  like  night  that  hung, 
I  ti-ead  the  floor  thy  hallowing  feet  have  trod  ; 
I  see  the  hands  a  nation's  lyre  that  strimg, 
The  eyes  that  looked  through  life  and  gazed  on 
God. 

The  seasons  change,  the  winds  they  shift  and 
veer ; 
The  grass  of  yesteryear 

Is  dead  ;  the  birds  depart,  the  groves  decay  : 
Empires  dissolve  and  peoples  disappear  : 

Song  passes  not  away. 

25 


LACHRYM^    MUSARUM 

Captains  and  conquerors  leave  a  little  dust, 
And  kings  a  dubious  legend  of  their  reign  ; 
The  swords  of  Caesars,  they  are  less  than  rust  : 
The  poet  doth  remain. 
Dead  is  Augustus,  Maro  is  alive  ; 
And  thou,  the  Mantuan  of  our  age  and  clime. 
Like  Virgil  shalt  thy  race  and  tongue  survive. 
Bequeathing  no  less  honeyed  words  to  time. 
Embalmed  in  amber  of  eternal  rhyme, 
And  rich  with  sweets  from  every  Muse's  hive ; 
While  to  the  measure  of  the  cosmic  rune 
For  purer  ears  thou  shalt  thy  lyre  attune. 
And  heed  no  more  the  hum  of  idle  praise 
In  that  great  calm  our  tumults  cannot  reach, 
Master  who  crown'st  our  immelodious  days 
With  flower  of  perfect  speech. 


26 


TO    EDWARD    DOWDEN 


TO  EDWARD  DOWDEN 

On   RErEiviNO   from   him  a  Copy   of   "The   Life 
OF  Shelley  " 


THIRST,  ere  I  slake  my  liunger,  let  me  thank 
The  giver  of  the  feast.     For  feast  it  is. 
Though  of  ethereal,  transl unary  fare — • 
His  story  who  pre-eminently  of  men 
Seemed  nourished  upon  starbeams  and  the  stuff 
Of  rainbows,  and  the  tempest,  and  the  foam  ; 
Who  hardly  brooked  on  his  impatient  soul 
The  fleshly  trammels ;  whom  at  last  the  sea 
Gave  to  the  fire,  from  whose  wild  arms  the  winds 
Took  him,  and  shook  him  broadcast  to  the  world. 

In  my  young  days  of  fervid  poesy 
He  drew  me  to  him  with  his  strange  far  light, — 
He  held  me  in  a  world  all  clouds  and  gleams. 


TO    EDWARD    DOWDEN 

And  vasty  phantoms,  where  ev'n  Man  liimself 
Moved  like  a  phantom  'mid  the  clouds  and  gleams. 
Anon  the  Earth  recalled  me,  and  a  voice 
Murmuring  of  dethroned  divinities 
And  dead  times  deathless  upon  sculptured  urn — 
And  Philomela's  long-descended  pain 
Flooding  the  night — and  maidens  of  romance 
To  whom  asleep  St.  Agnes'  love-dreams  come — 
Awhile  constrained  me  to  a  sweet  duresse 
And  thraldom,  lapping  me  in  high  content, 
Soft  as  the  bondage  of  white  amorous  arms. 
And  then  a  third  voice,  long  unheeded — held 
Claustral  and  cold,  and  dissonant  and  tame — 
Found  me  at  last  with  ears  to  hear.     It  sang 
Of  lowly  sorrows  and  familiar  joys. 
Of  simple  manhood,  artless  womanhood, 
And  childhood  fragi'ant  as  the  limpid  morn  ; 
And  from  the  homel}'  matter  nigh  at  hand 
Ascending  and  dilating,  it  disclosed 
Spaces  and  avenues,  calm  heights  and  breadths 
Of  vision,  whence  I  saw  each  blade  of  grass 

With  roots  that  groped  about  eternity, 

28 


TO    EDWARD    DOWDEN 

And  in  eacli  drop  ot"  dew  upon  each  blade 

The  minor  of  the  inseparable  All. 

The  first  voice,  then  the  second,  in  their  turns 

Had  sung  me  captive.     This  voice  sang  me  free. 

Therefore,  above  all  vocal  sons  of  men, 

Since  him  whose  sightless  eyes  saw  hell  and  heaven. 

To  Wordsworth  be  my  homage,  thanks,  and  love. 

Yet  dear  is  Keats,  a  lucid  presence,  great 

With  somewhat  of  a  glorious  soullessness. 

And  dear,  and  great  with  an  excess  of  soul, 

Shelley,  the  hectic  flamelike  rose  of  verse. 

All  colour,  and  all  odour,  and  all  bloom. 

Steeped  in  the  noonlight,  glutted  with  the  sun, 

But  somewhat  lacking  root  in  homely  earth. 

Lacking  such  human  moisture  as  bedews 

His  not  less  starward  stem  of  song,  who,  rapt 

Not  less  in  glowing  vision,  yet  retained 

His  clasp  of  the  prehensible,  retained 

The  warm  touch  of  the  world  that  lies  to  hand, 

Not  in  vague  dreams  of  man  forgetting  men. 

Nor  in  vast  morrows  losing  the  to-day  ; 

Who  trusted  nature,  trusted  fate,  nor  found 
29 


TO    EDWARD    DOWDEN 

An  Ogre,  -sovereign  on  tlie  throne  of  things  ; 

Who  felt  the  incumbence  of  the  unknown,  yet  bore 

Without  resentment  the  Divine  reserve  ; 

Who  suffered  not  his  spirit  to  dash  itself 

Against  the  crags  and  wavelike  break  in  spray, 

But  'midst  the  infinite  tranquillities 

Moved  tranquil,  and  henceforth,  by  Rotha  stream 

And  Rydal's  moiuitain-mirror,  and  where  flows 

Yarrow  thrice  sung  or  Duddon  to  the  sea, 

And  wheresoe'er  man's  heart  is  thrilled  by  tones 

Struck  from  man's  lyric  heartstrings,  shall  survive. 


30 


EPIGRAM 


''^piS  liuiiuiu  fortune's  happiest  heiglit,  to  be 

A  spirit  melodious,  lucid,  poised,  and  whole; 
Second  in  order  of  felicity 

I  hold  it,  to  have  walk'd  with  such  a  soul. 


31 


AUTUMN 


AUTUMN 

T^HOU  bunleii  of  all  songs  the  earth  hath  sung, 
Thou  retrospect  in  Time's  reverted  eyes, 
Thou  metaphor  of  everything  that  dies. 

That  dies  ill-starred,  or  dies  beloved  and  young 
And  therefore  blest  and  wise, — 

O  be  less  beautiful,  or  be  less  brief, 

Thou  tragic  splendour,  strange,  and  full  of  fear  ! 
In  vain  her  pageant  shall  the  Summer  i-ear  ? 

At  thy  mute  signal,  leaf  by  golden  leaf. 
Crumbles  the  gorgeous  year. 

Ah,  ghostly  as  remembei'ed  mirth,  the  tale 

Of  Summer's  bloom,  the  legend  of  the  Spring  ! 
And  thou,  too,  flutterest  an  impatient  wing, 

Thou  presence  yet  more  fugitive  and  frail. 

Thou  most  unbodied  thing, 
32 


AUTUMN 

Whose  very  being  is  thy  going  hence, 

And  passage  and  depai-ture  all  thy  theme  ; 
Whose  life  doth  still  a  splendid  dying  seem, 

And  thou  at  height  of  thy  magnificence 
A  figment  and  a  dream. 

Stilled  is  the  virgin  rapture  that  was  June, 

And  cold  is  August's  panting  heart  of  fire ; 

And  in  the  storm-dismantled  forest-choir 
For  thine  own  elegy  thy  winds  attune 

Their  wild  and  wizard  lyre  : 
And  poignant  grows  the  charm  of  thy  decay. 

The  pathos  of  thy  beauty,  and  the  sting, 

Thou  parable  of  greatness  vanishing  ! 
For  me,  thy  woods  of  gold  and  skies  of  grey 
With  speech  fantastic  ring. 

For  me,  to  dreams  resigned,  there  come  and  go, 

'Twixt  mountains  draped  and  hooded  night  and 

morn. 

Elusive  notes  in  wandering  wafture  borne, 
33  c 


AUTUMN 

From  undiscoverable  lips  that  blow 

An  immaterial  horn ; 
And  spectral  seem  thy  winter-boding  trees, 
Thy  ruinous  bowers  and  drifted  foliage  wet- 
O  Past  and  Future  in  sad  bridal  met, 
O  voice  of  everything  that  perishes, 
And  soul  of  all  regret ! 


34 


WORLD-STRANGENESS 


WORLD-STRANGENESS 

CTRANGE  the  world  about  me  lies^ 

Never  yet  familiar  grown — 
Still  disturbs  me  with  sm'prise^ 

Haunts  me  like  a  face  half  known. 

In  this  house  with  starry  dome. 

Floored  with  gemlike  plains  and  seas, 

Shall  I  never  feel  at  home, 
Never  wholly  be  at  ease  ? 

On  from  room  to  room  I  stray, 

Yet  my  Host  can  ne'er  espy, 

And  I  know  not  to  this  day 

Whether  guest  or  captive  L 
35 


WORLD-STRANGENESS 

Soj  between  the  starry  dome 

And  the  floor  of  plains  and  seas, 

I  have  never  felt  at  home, 
Never  wholly  been  at  ease. 


36 


EPIGRAM 


T^HE  statue — Buonarotti  said — doth  wait, 
Thrall'd  in  the  block,  for  me  to  emancipate. 
The  poem — saith  the  poet — wanders  free 
Till  I  betray  it  to  captivity. 


37 


THE    MOCK    SELF 


THE    MOCK    SELF 

IPEW  friends  are  mine,  though  many  wights  there 

be 
Who,  meeting  oft  a  phantasm  that  makes  claim 
To  be  myself,  and  hath  my  face  and  name, 
And  whose  thin  fraud  I  wink  at  privily, 
Account  this  light  imjiostor  very  me. 
What  boots  it  undeceive  them,  and  proclaim 
Myself  myself,  and  whelm  this  cheat  with  shame  ? 
I  care  not,  so  he  leave  my  true  self  free. 
Impose  not  on  me  also  ;  but  alas  ! 
I  too,  at  fault,  bewildered,  sometimes  take 
Him  for  myself,  and  far  from  mine  own  sight. 
Torpid,  indifferent,  doth  mine  own  self  pass  ; 
And  yet  anon  leaps  suddenly  awake. 
And  spurns  the  gibbering  mime  into  the  night. 


ENGLAND    AND    HER    COLONIES 


ENGLAND    AND    HER   COLONIES 

QHE  stands,  a  thousand-wintered  tree. 

By  countless  morns  impearled  ; 
Her  broad  roots  coil  beneath  the  sea, 

Her  branches  sweep  the  woi'ld  ; 
Her  seeds,  by  careless  winds  conveyed. 

Clothe  the  remotest  strand 
With  forests  from  her  scatterings  rcade. 
New  nations  fostered  in  her  shade, 

And  linkinff  land  with  land. 


O  ye  by  wandering  tempest  sown 

'Neath  every  alien  star, 

Forget  not  whence  the  breath  was  blown 

That  wafted  you  afar  ! 
39 


ENGLAND  AND  HER  COLONIES 

For  ye  are  still  her  ancient  seed 

On  younger  soil  let  fall — - 
Children  of  Britain's  island-breed, 
To  whom  the  Mother  in  her  need 

Perchance  may  one  day  call. 


40 


TO    A    POET 


TO   A   POET 

nniME,  the  extortioner,  from  richest  beauty 
Takes  heavy  toll  and  wrings  rapacious  duty. 
Austere  of  feature  if  thou  carve  thy  rhyme. 
Perchance  'twill  pay  the  lesser  tax  to  Time. 


41 


"WHEN    BIRDS    WERE    SONGLESS 


VVTHEN  birds  were  songless  on  the  bough 

I  heard  thee  sing. 
The  world  was  full  of  winter,  thou 

Wert  full  of  spring. 

To-day  the  world's  heart  feels  anew 

The  vernal  thrill. 
And  thine  beneath  the  rueful  yew 

Is  wintry  chill. 


42 


FELICITY 


FELICITY 

A     SQUALID,  hideous    town,  where   streams 

black 

With  vomit  of  a  hundred  roaring  mills, — 

Hither  occasion  calls  me  ;  and  ev'n  here, 

All  in  the  sable  reek  that  wantonly 

Defames  the  sunlight  and  deflowers  the  morn. 

One  may  at  least  surmise  the  sky  still  blue. 

Ev'n  here,  the  myriad  slaves  of  the  machine 

Deem  life  a  boon ;  and  here,  in  days  far  sped, 

I  overheard  a  kind-eyed  girl  relate 

To  her  companions,  hoAV  a  favouring  chance 

By  some  few  shillings  weekly  had  increased 

The  earnings  of  her  household,  and  she  said  : 

"  So  now  we  are  happy,  having  all  we  wished,"- 

Felicity  indeed  !  though  more  it  lay 

In  wanting  little  than  in  winning  all. 
43 


FELICITY 

Felicity  indeed  !     Across  the  years 
To  me  her  tones  come  back,  rebuking ;  me, 
Spreader  of  toils  to  snare  the  wandering  Joy 
No  guile  may  capture  and  no  force  surprise — 
Only  by  them  that  never  wooed  her,  won. 

O  curst  with  wide  desires  and  spacious  dreams. 
Too  cunningly  do  ye  accumulate 
Appliances  and  means  of  happiness, 
E'er  to  be  hajipy  !     Lavish  hosts,  ye  make 
Elaborate  preparation  to  receive 
A  shy  and  simple  guest,  who,  warned  of  all 
The  ceremony  and  cii'cumstance  wherewith 
Ye  mean  to  entertain  her,  will  not  come. 


44 


IN    LALEHAM    CHURCHYARD 


IN    LALEHAM    CHURCHYARD* 

(18TII  August    1890) 

"T^WAS  at  this  season,  year  by  year, 
The  singer  who  Hes  songless  here 
Was  wont  to  woo  a  less  austere, 

Less  deep  repose, 
Where  Rotha  to  Winandermere 

Unresting  flows, — 

Flows  thi-ougli  a  land  where  torrents  call 
To  far-off  torrents  as  they  fall. 
And  mountains  in  their  cloudy  pall 

Keep  ghostly  state. 
And  Nature  makes  majestical 

Man's  lowliest  fate. 

*  The  burial-place  of  Matthew  Arnold. 
45 


IN    LALEHAM    CHURCHYARD 

There,  'mid  the  August  glow,  still  came 
He  of  the  twice-illustrious  name. 
The  loud  impertinence  of  fame 

Not  loth  to  flee — 
Not  loth  with  brooks  and  fells  to  claim 

Fraternity. 


Linked  with  his  happy  youthful  lot, 
Is  Loughrigg,  then,  at  last  forgot  ? 
Nor  silent  peak  nor  dalesman's  cot 

Looks  on  his  grave. 
Lulled  by  the  Thames  he  sleeps,  and  not 

By  Rotha's  wave. 


'Tis  fittest  thus  !  for  though  with  skill 

He  sang  of  beck  and  tarn  and  ghyll. 

The  deep,  authentic  mountain-thrill 

Ne'er  shook  his  page  ! 

Somewhat  of  worldling  mingled  still 

With  bard  and  sage. 
46 


IN    LALEHAM    CHURCHYARD 

And  'twere  less  meet  for  him  to  lie 
Guarded  by  summits  lone  and  high 
That  traffic  with  the  eternal  sky 

And  hear^  unawed, 
The  everlasting  fingers  ply 

The  loom  of  God, 


Than^  in  this  hamlet  of  the  plain, 
A  less  sublime  repose  to  gain, 
Where  Nature,  genial  and  urbane. 

To  man  defers, 
Yielding  to  us  the  right  to  reign, 

Which  yet  is  hers. 


And  nigh  to  where  his  bones  abide, 
The  Thames  with  its  unruffled  tide 
Seems  like  his  genius  typified, — 

Its  strength,  its  grace. 
Its  lucid  gleam,  its  sober  pride, 

Its  tranquil  pace. 

47 


IN    LALEHAM    CHURCHYARD 

But  ah  !  not  his  the  eventual  fate 
Which  cloth  the  journeying  wave  await- 
Doomed  to  resign  its  hnipid  state 

And  quickly  grow 
Turbid  as  passion,  dark  as  hate, 

And  wide  as  woe. 


Rather,  it  may  be,  over-much 

He  shunned  the  common  stain  and  smutch. 

From  soilure  of  ignoble  touch 

Too  grandly  free. 
Too  loftily  secure  in  such' 

Cold  purity. 


But  he  preserved  from  chance  control 

The  fortress  of  his  'stablisht  soul  ; 

In  all  things  sought  to  see  the  Whole 

Brooked  no  disguise  ; 
And  set  his  heart  upon  the  goal. 

Not  on  the  prize. 

48 


IN    LALEHAM    CHURCHYARD 

With  those  Elect  he  shall  survive 
Who  seem  not  to  compete  or  strive^ 
Yet  with  the  foremost  still  arrive. 

Prevailing  still  : 
Spirits  with  whom  the  stars  connive 

To  work  their  will. 

And  ye,  the  baffled  many,  who. 
Dejected,  from  afar  off  view 
The  easily  victorious  few 

Of  calm  renown, — 
Have  ye  not  your  sad  glory  too. 

And  mournful  crown  ? 

Great  is  the  facile  conqueror; 
Yet  haply  he,  who,  wounded  sore. 
Breathless,  unhorsed,  all  covered  o'er 

With  blood  and  sweat. 
Sinks  foiled,  but  fighting  evermore. 

Is  greater  yet. 


49 


LIFE    WITHOUT    HEALTH 


LIFE   WITHOUT   HEALTH 

"DEHOLD  life  builded  as  a  goodly  house 

And  grown  a  mansion  ruinous 

With  winter  blowing  through  its  crumbling  walls  ! 

The  master  paceth  up  and  down  his  halls, 

And  in  the  empty  hours 

Can  hear  the  tottering  of  his  towers 

And  tremor  of  their  bases  underground. 

And  oft  he  starts  and  looks  around 

At  creaking  of  a  distant  door 

Or  echo  of  his  footfall  on  the  floor. 

Thinking  it  may  be  one  whom  he  awaits 

And  hath  for  many  days  awaited, 

Coming    to    lead    him    through    the    mouldering 

gates 
Out  somewhere,  from  his  home  dilapidated. 


50 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    YOUTH 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   YOUTH 

TT'OUTH  !  ere  thou  be  flown  away, 
Surely  one  last  boon  to-day 

Thou'lt  bestow — 
One  last  light  of  rapture  give, 
Rich  and  lordly  fugitive  ! 

Ere  thou  eo. 


What,  thou  canst  not  ?     What,  all  spent  ? 
All  thy  spells  of  ravishment 

Fow'rless  now  ? 
Gone  thy  magic  out  of  date  ? 
Gone,  all  gone  that  made  thee  great  ? — 

Follow  thou  ! 


51 


EPIGRAiM 


T^HE  Poet  gathers  fruit  from  every  tree, 
Yeaj  grapes  from  thorns  and  figs  from  thistles  he. 
Pluck'd  by  his  hand,  the  basest  weed  that  grows 
Towers  to  a  lily,  reddens  to  a  rose. 


52 


"UNDER   THE    DARK    AND    PINY   STEEP 


TTNDER  the  dark  and  piny  steep 
We  watched  the  storm  crash  by  : 

We  saw  the  bright  brand  leap  and  leap 
Out  of  the  shattered  sky. 

The  elements  were  minist'ring 

To  make  one  mortal  blest ; 
For,  peal  by  peal,  you  did  but  cling 

The  closer  to  his  breast. 


53 


"NAY,    BID    ME    NOT" 


"VTAY,  bid  me  not  my  cares  to  leave, 
Who  cannot  from  their  shadow  flee. 

I  do  but  win  a  short  reprieve, 
'Scaping  to  pleasure  and  to  thee. 

I  may,  at  best,  a  moment's  grace. 
And  grant  of  liberty,  obtain  ; 

Respited  for  a  little  space, 
To  go  back  into  bonds  again. 


54 


A    PRELUDE 


A  PRELUDE 

'THE  mighty  poets  from  their  flowing  store 
Dispense  like  casual  alms  the  careless  ore  ; 
Through  throngs  of  men  their  lonely  way  they  go, 
Let  fall  their  costly  thoughts,  nor  seem  to  know. — 
Not  mine  the  rich  and  showering  hand,  that  strews 
The  facile  largess  of  a  stintless  Muse. 
A  fitful  presence,  seldom  tarrying  long, 
Capriciously  she  touches  me  to  song — 
Then  leaves  me  to  lament  her  flight  in  vain. 
And  wonder  will  she  ever  come  again. 


55 


ON    LANDOR'S    "HELLENICS" 


ON   LANDOR'S   "HELLENICS" 

/^OME  hither,  who  grow  clo3'ed  to  surfeiting 
With  lyric  draughts  o'ersweet,  from  rills  that  rise 
On  Hybla  not  Parnassus  mountain  :  come 
With  beakers  rinsed  of  the  dulcifluous  wave 
Hither,  and  see  a  magic  miracle 
Of  happiest  science,  the  bland  Attic  skies 
True-mirrored  by  an  English  well ; — no  stream 
Whose  heaven-belying  surface  makes  the  stars 
Reel,  with  its  restless  idiosyncrasy  ; 
But  well  unstirred,  save  when  at  times  it  takes 
Tribute  of  lovers'  eyelids,  and  at  times 
Bubbles  with  laughter  of  some  sprite  below. 


56 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 

T 

"PNGLAND  my  mother, 
Wardress  of  waters. 
Builder  of  peoples. 
Maker  of  men, — 

Hast  thou  yet  leisure 
Left  for  the  muses  ? 
Heed'st  thou  the  songsmith 
Forging  the  rhyme  ? 

Deafened  with  tumults, 
How  canst  thou  hearken  ? 
Strident  is  faction. 

Demos  is  loud. 

57 


ENGLAND  MY  MOTHER 

Lazarus,  hungry, 
Menaces  Dives ; 
Labour  the  giant 
Chafes  in  his  hold. 

Yet  do  the  songsmiths 
Quit  not  their  forges  ; 
Still  on  life's  anvil 

Forge  they  the  rhyme. 

Still  tlie  rapt  faces 
Glow  from  the  furnace  : 
Breath  of  the  smithy 
Scorches  their  brows. 

Yea,  and  thou  hear'st  them  ? 
So  shall  the  hammers 
Fashion  not  vainly 
Verses  of  <rold. 


58 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 


II 

Lo^  with  the  ancient 
Roots  of  man's  nature 
Twines  the  eternal 
Passion  of  song. 

Ever  Love  fans  it, 
Ever  Life  feeds  it ; 
Time  cannot  age  it, 
Death  cannot  slay. 

Deep  in  the  world-heart 
Stand  its  foundations, 
Tangled  with  all  things. 
Twin-made  with  all. 

Na}^,  what  is  Nature's 

Self,  but  an  endless 

Strife  toward  music. 

Euphony,  rhyme  } 
59 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 

Trees  in  their  blooming, 
Tides  in  their  flowing. 
Stars  in  their  circling, 
Tremble  with  song. 

God  on  His  throne  is 
Eldest  of  poets : 
Unto  His  measures 
Moveth  the  Whole. 


Ill 

Therefore  deride  not 
Speech  of  the  muses, 
England  my  mother, 
Maker  of  men. 

Nations  are  mortal. 

Fragile  is  greatness ; 

Fortune  may  fly  thee. 

Song  shall  not  fly. 
60 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 

Song  the  all-girdling. 
Song  cannot  perish : 
Men  shall  make  music, 
Man  shall  sive  ear. 


Not  while  the  choric 
Chant  of  creation 
Floweth  from  all  things, 
Poured  without  pause, 

Cease  we  to  echo 
Faintly  the  descant 
Whereto  for  ever 
Dances  the  world. 


IV 

So  let  the  songsmith 

Proffer  his  rhyme-gift, 

England  my  mother. 

Maker  of  men. 
61 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 

Grey  grows  thy  count' nance, 
Full  of  the  ages  ; 
Time  on  thy  forehead 
Sits  like  a  dream  : 


Song  is  the  potion 
All  things  renewing, 
Youth's  one  elixir, 
Fountain  of  morn. 


Thou,  at  the  world-loom 
Weaving  thy  future. 
Fitly  may'st  temper 
Toil  with  deliffht. 


Deemest  thou,  labour 

Only  is  earnest  ? 

Grave  is  all  beauty. 

Solemn  is  joy. 
62 


ENGLAND    MY    MOTHER 

Song  is  no  bauble — 
Slight  not  the  songsmith, 
England  my  mother^ 
Maker  of  men. 


63 


"SCENTLESS  FLOW'RS  I  BRING  THEE 


^CENTLESS  How'rs  I  bring  thee— yet 
In  thy  bosom  be  they  set ; 
In  thy  bosom  each  one  grows 
Fragrant  beyond  any  rose. 

Sweet  enough  were  she  who  could, 
In  thy  heart's  sweet  neighbourhood, 
Some  redundant  sweetness  thus 
Borrow  from  that  overplus. 


64 


SHELLEY    AND     HARRIET 


SHELLEY   AND   HARRIET 

A     STAR   look'd   clown   from  heaven  and  loved  a 
flower 
Grown  in  earth's  garden — loved  it  for  an  hour. 
Let  eyes  that  trace  his  orbit  in  the  spheres 
Refuse  not,  to  a  ruin'd  rosebud,  tears. 


65 


AND    THESE— ARE    THESE    INDEED 


AND  these — are  these  indeed  the  end. 
This  grinning  skull,  this  heavy  loam  ? 
Do  all  green  ways  whereby  we  wend 
Lead  but  to  yon  ignoble  home  ? 

Ah  well !  thine  eyes  invite  to  bliss  ; 

Thy  lips  are  hives  of  summer  still. 
I  ask  not  other  worlds  while  this 

Proffers  me  all  the  sweets  I  will. 


66 


THE    RAVEN'S    SHADOW 


THE    RAVEN'S    SHADOW 

QEABIRD,  elemental  sprite. 
Moulded  of  the  sun  and  spray — 

Raven,  dreaiy  flake  of  night 
Drifting  in  the  eye  of  day — 

What  in  common  have  ye  two, 

Meetine  'twixt  the  blue  and  blue  ? 


Thou  to  eastward  earnest 

The  keen  savour  of  the  foam, — 

Thou  dost  bear  unto  the  west 

Fragrance  from  thy  woody  home. 

Where  perchance  a  house  is  thine 

Odorous  of  the  oozy  pine. 

67 


THE    RAVEN'S    SHADOW 

Eastward  thee  thy  proper  cares, 
Things  of  mighty  moment,  call ; 

Thee  to  westward  thine  affairs 
Summon,  weighty  matters  all : 

I,  where  land  and  sea  contest, 

Watch  you  eastward,  watch  you  west, 


Till,  in  snares  of  fancy  caught, 
Mystically  changed  ye  seem, 

And  the  bird  becomes  a  thought. 
And  the  thought  becomes  a  dream. 

And  the  dream,  outspread  on  high. 

Lords  it  o'er  the  abject  sky. 


Surely  I  have  known  before 

Phantoms  of  the  shapes  ye  be — 

Haunters  of  another  shore 
'Leaguered  by  another  sea. 

Thei-e  my  wanderings  night  and  morn 

Reconcile  me  to  the  bourn. 

68 


THE    RAVEN'S    SHADOW 

riieie  the  bird  of  happy  wings 
Wafts  the  ocean-news  I  crave  ; 

Rumours  of  an  isle  he  brings 
Geujlike  on  the  golden  wave  : 

But  the  baleful  beak  and  plume 

Scatter  ini melodious  ffloora. 


Though  the  flow'rs  be  faultless  made, 

Perfectly  to  live  and  die — 
Though  the  bright  clouds  bloom  and  fade 

Flow'rlike  'midst  a  meadowy  sky — 
Where  this  raven  roams  forlorn 
Veins  of  midniorht  flaw  the  morn. 


He  not  less  will  croak  and  croak 
As  he  ever  caws  and  caws, 

Till  the  stany  dance  be  broke. 
Till  the  sphery  pa?an  pause, 

And  the  universal  chime 

Falter  out  of  tune  and  time. 
69 


THE    RAVEN'S    SHADOW 

Coils  the  labyrinthine  sea 
Duteous  to  the  lunar  will, 

But  some  discord  stealthily 
Vexes  the  world-ditty  still, 

And  the  bird  that  caws  and  caws 

Clasps  creation  with  his  claws. 


70 


ANTONY  AT  ACTIUM 


ANTONY   AT    ACTIUM 

TTE  holds  a  dubious  balance  :— yet  that  scale. 
Whose  freight  the  world  is,  surely  shall  prevail  ? 
No  ;  Cleopatra  droppeth  into  this 
One  counterpoising  orient  sultry  kiss. 


71 


THE    GLIMPSE 


THE    GLIMPSE 

TUST  for  a  day  you  crossed  my  life's  dull  track. 
Put  my  ignobler  dreams  to  sudden  shame, 

Went  your  bright  way,  and  left  me  to  fall  back 
On  my  own  world  of  poorer  deed  and  aim  ; 

To  fall  back  on  my  meaner  world,  and  feel 

Like     one     who,     dwelling     'mid    some    smoke- 
dimmed  town, — 
In  a  brief  pause  of  labour's  sullen  wheel, — 

'Scaped  from  the  street's  dead  dust  and  factory's 
frown^ — 

In  stainless  daylight  saw  the  pure  seas  roll, 
Saw  mountains  pillaring  the  perfect  sky  : 

Then  journeyed  home,  to  carry  in  his  soul 
The  torment  of  the  difference  till  he  die. 


72 


TO    A    SEA  BIRD 


TO    A    SEABIRD 

Tj^AlN  would  I  have  thee  barter  fates  with  me, — 
Lone  loiterer  where  the  shells  like  jewels  be. 
Hung  on  the  fringe  and  frayed  hem  of  the  sea. 
But  no, — 'twere  cruel,  wild-wing'd  Bliss  !  to  thee. 


73 


"WELL   HE   SLUMBERS,  GREATLY   SLAIN 


T\/'ELL  he  slumbers,  greatly  slain, 
Who  in  splendid  battle  dies  ; 

Deep  his  sleep  in  midmost  main 
Pillowed  upon  pearl  who  lies. 

Ease,  of  all  good  gifts  the  best. 
War  and  wave  at  last  decree  : 

Love  alone  denies  us  rest, 
Crueller  than  sword  or  sea. 


74 


LUX    PERDITA 


LUX   PERDITA 

T^HINE  were  the  weak,  slight  hands 

That  might  have  taken  this  strong  soul,  and  bent 

Its  stubborn  substance  to  thy  soft  intent. 

And  bound  it  unresisting,  with  such  bands 

As  not  the  arm  of  envious  heaven  had  rent. 

Thine  were  the  calming  eyes 
That  round  my  pinnace  could  have  stilled  the  sea. 
And  drawn  thy  voyager  home,  and  bid  him  be 
Pure  with  their  pureness,  with  their  wisdom  wise, 
Merged  in  their  light,  and  greatly  lost  in  thee. 

But  thou — thou  passed'st  on, 
With  whiteness  clothed  of  dedicated  days, 
Cold,  like  a  star ;  and  me  in  alien  ways 
Thou  leftest  following  life's  chance  lure,  where  shone 
The  wandering  gleam  that  beckons  and  betrays. 


75 


"THINGS   THAT   ARE    MORE   EXCELLENT 


"THE   THINGS  THAT   ARE   MORE 
EXCELLENT" 

AS  we  wax  older  on  this  earth. 

Till  many  a  toy  that  charmed  us  seems 
Emptied  of  beauty,  stripped  of  worth. 

And  mean  as  dust  and  dead  as  dreams, — 
For  gauds  that  perished,  shows  that  passed, 

Some  recompense  the  Fates  have  sent : 
Thrice  lovelier  shine  the  things  that  last. 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 


Tired  of  the  Senate's  barren  brawl, 

An  hour  with  silence  we  prefer. 

Where  statelier  rise  the  woods  than  all 

Yon  towers  of  talk  at  Westminster. 
76 


"THINGS  THAT  ARE  MORE  EXCELLENT 

Let  this  man  prate  and  that  man  plot. 

On  fame  or  place  or  title  bent : 
The  votes  of  veering  crowds  are  not 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

Shall  we  perturb  and  vex  our  soul 

For  "  wrongs  "  which  no  true  freedom  mar, 
Which  no  man's  upright  walk  control, 

And  from  no  guiltless  deed  debar  ? 
What  odds  though  tonguesters  heal,  or  leave 

Unhealed,  the  grievance  they  invent  ? 
To  things,  not  phantoms,  let  us  cleave  — 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

Nought  nobler  is,  than  to  be  free : 
The  stars  of  heaven  are  free  because 

In  amplitude  of  liberty 

Their  joy  is  to  obey  the  laws. 

From  servitude  to  freedom's  name 

Free  thou  thy  mind  in  bondage  pent  ; 

Depose  the  fetich,  and  proclaim 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

77 


"THINGS   THAT   ARE    MORE   EXCELLENT 

And  in  appropriate  dust  be  hurled 

That  dull,  punctilious  god,  whom  they 
That  call  their  tiny  clan  the  world, 

Serve  and  obsequiously  obey  : 
Who  con  their  ritual  of  Routine, 

With  minds  to  one  dead  likeness  blent, 
And  never  ev'n  in  dreams  have  seen 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

To  dress,  to  call,  to  dine,  to  break 

No  canon  of  the  social  code. 
The  little  laws  that  lacqueys  make, 

The  futile  decalogue  of  Mode, — 
How  many  a  soul  for  these  things  lives. 

With  pious  passion,  grave  intent ! 
While  Nature  careless-handed  gives 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

To  hug  the  wealth  ye  cannot  use. 

And  lack  the  riches  all  may  gain, — 
O  blind  and  wanting  wit  to  choose. 

Who  house  the  chaff  and  burn  the  grain  I 

78 


THINGS  THAT  ARE  MORE  EXCELLENT 

And  still  doth  life  with  starry  towers 
Lure  to  the  bright^  divine  ascent ! — 

Be  yours  the  things  ye  would  :  be  ours 
The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

The  grace  of  friendship — mind  and  heart 

Linked  with  their  fellow  heart  and  mind 
The  gains  of  science,  gifts  of  art ; 

The  sense  of  oneness  with  our  kind  ; 
The  thirst  to  know  and  understand — 

A  large  and  liberal  discontent : 
These  are  the  goods  in  life's  rich  hand. 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

In  faultless  rhythm  the  ocean  rolls, 
A  rapturous  silence  thrills  the  skies ; 

And  on  this  earth  are  lovely  souls. 
That  softly  look  with  aidful  eyes. 

Though  dark,  O  God,  Thy  course  and  track, 
I  think  Thou  must  at  least  have  meant 

That  nought  which  lives  should  wholly  lack 

The  things  that  are  more  excellent. 

79 


EPIGRAM 


TN  youth  the  artist  voweth  lover's  vows 
To  Art,  in  manhood  maketh  her  his  spouse. 
Well  if  her  charms  yet  hold  for  him  such  joy 
As  when  he  craved  some  boon  and  she  was  coy  ! 


80 


THE    GREAT    MISGIVING 


THE    GREAT    MISGIVING 

""VrOT  OLU's/'  say  soine^  "the  thought  of  death  to 
dread  ; 

Asking  no  lieaven,  we  fear  no  fabled  hell  ; 
Life  is  a  feast,  and  we  have  banqueted — 

Shall  not  the  worms  as  well  ? 

"  The  after-silence,  when  the  feast  is  o'er, 

And  void  the  places  where  the  minstrels  stood, 

Diifers  in  nought  from  what  hath  been  before, 
And  is  nor  ill  nor  good." 

Ah,  but  the  Apparition — the  dumb  sign — 

The  beckoning  finger  bidding  me  forego 

The  fellowship,  the  converse,  and  the  wine. 

The  songs,  the  festal  glow  ! 

81  F 


THE    GREAT    MISGIVING 

And  ah,  to  know  not,  while  with  friends  I  sit, 
And  while  the  purple  joy  is  passed  about, 

Whether  'tis  ampler  day  divinelier  lit 
Or  homeless  night  without ; 

And  whether,  stepping  forth,  my  soul  shall  see 
New  prospects,  or  fall  sheer— a  blinded  thing  ! 

There  is,  O  grave,  thy  hourly  victory. 
And  there,  O  death,  thy  sting. 


82 


TO    LORD    TENNYSON 


TO     LORD     TENNYSON 

(With   a  Volume  of  Verse) 

IVT ASTER  and  mage,  our  prince  of  song,  whom  Time 
In  this  your  autumn  mellow  and  sei'ene, 
Crowns  ever  with  fresh  laurels,  not  less  green 
Than  garlands  dewy  from  your  verdurous  prime  ; 
Heir  of  the  riches  of  the  whole  world's  rhyme, 
Dow'r'd  with  the  Attic  grace,  the  Mantuan  mien, 
With  Arno's  depth  and  Avon's  golden  sheen  ; 
Singer  to  whom  the  singing  ages  climb, 
Convergent ; — if  the  youngest  of  the  choir 
May  snatch  a  flying  splendour  from  your  name, 
Making  his  page  illustrious,  and  aspire 
For  one  rich  moment  your  regaixl  to  claim, 
Suffer  him  at  your  feet  to  lay  his  lyre 
And  touch  the  skirts  and  fringes  of  your  fame. 


THE    KEY-BOARD 


THE   KEY-BOARD 

JPIVE-AND-THIRTY  black  slaves, 

Half-a-hundred  white. 
All  their  duty  but  to  sing 

For  their  Queen's  delight. 
Now  with  throats  of  thunder, 

Now  with  dulcet  lips. 
While  she  rules  them  royally 

With  her  finger-tips  ! 


When  she  quits  her  palace, 
All  the  slaves  are  dumb- 
Dumb  with  dolour  till  the  Queen 

Back  to  Court  is  come  : 

84 


THE    KEY-BOARD 

Dumb  the  throats  of  thunder, 

Dumb  the  dulcet  lips, 
Lacking  all  the  sovereignty 

Of  her  finger-tips. 

Dusky  slaves  and  pallid, 

Ebon  slaves  and  white, 
When  the  Queen  v\^as  on  her  throne 

How  you  sang  to-night  I 
Ah,  the  throats  of  thunder  ! 

Ah,  the  dulcet  lips  ! 
Ah,  the  gracious  tyrannies 

Of  her  finger-tips  ! 

Silent,  silent,  silent. 

All  your  voices  noAv  ; 
Was  it  then  her  life  alone 

Did  your  life  endow  ? 
Waken,  throats  of  thunder  ! 

Waken,  dulcet  lips  ! 
Touched  to  immortality 

By  her  finger-tips. 

85 


"TAMBURLAINE    THE    GREAT" 


AFTER    READING   "TAMBURLAINE 
THE   GREAT" 

X^OUR  Marlowe's  page  I   close^  my  Shakespeare's 
ope. 

How  welcome — after  gong  and  cymbal's  din — 
The  contmiiity^  the  long  slow  slope 

And  vast  curves  of  the  gradual  violin  ! 


86 


TO    A    FRIEND 


TO    A   FRIEND 

Chafing    at   enforced    Idleness   from 

INTERRUPTED     HeaLTH 


QOON  may  the  edict  lapse,  that  on  you  lays 
This  dire  compulsion  of  infertile  days. 
This  hardest  penal  toil,  reluctant  rest ! 
Meanwhile  I  count  you  eminently  blest, 
Happy  from  labours  heretofore  well  done, 
Happy  in  tasks  auspiciously  begun. 
For  they  are  blest  that  have  not  much  to  rue — 
That  have  not  oft  mis-heard  the  prompter's  cue. 
Stammered   and    stumbled   and   the  wrong   parts 

played 
And  life  a  Tragedy  of  Errors  made. 


87 


EPIGRAM 


T^O  keep  in  sight  Perfection,  and  adore 
The  vision,  is  tlie  artist's  best  delight ; 

His  bitterest  pang,  that  he  can  ne'er  do  more 
Than  keep  her  long'd-for  loveliness  in  sight. 


88 


SONNETS 


FROM 


"VER    TENEBROSUM" 


The  eight  sonnets  here  folloiv'ing  are  from  a  series  of 
fifteen,  arising  out  of  events  of  March  and  April, 
1885,  and  originally  published  in   June  of  that 
year. 


SONNETS   FROM    "VER   TENEBROSUM " 


THE   SOUDANESE 

'T^HEY  wrong'd  not  us,  nor  sought  'gainst    us   to 

wage 

The  bitter  battle.     On  their  God  they  cried 

For  succour,  deeming  justice  to  abide 

In  heaven,  if  banish'd  from  earth's  vicinage. 

And  when  they  rose  with  a  gall'd  hon's  rage. 

We,  on  the  captor's,  keeper's,  tamer's  side, 

We,  with  the  ahen  tyranny  alhed. 

We  bade  them  back  to  their  Egyptian  cage. 

Scarce  knew  they  who  we  wei'e  !     A  wind  of  blight 

From  the  mysterious  far  north-west  we  came. 

Our  greatness  now  their  veriest  babes  have  learn'd. 

Where,  in  wild  desert  homes,  by  day,  by  night, 

Thousands  that  weep  their  warriors  unreturn'd, 

O  England,  O  my  country,  curse  thy  name  ! 
91 


SONNETS   FROM   "VER  TENEBROSUM" 


THE   ENGLISH    DEAD 

/^IVE  honour  to  our  heroes  fall'n,  how  ill 
Soe'er  the  cause  that  bade  them  forth  to  die. 
Honour  to  him,  the  untimely  struck,  whom  high 
In   place,    more    high    in   hope,   'twas   fate's   harsh 

will 
With  tedious  pain  unsplendidly  to  kill. 
Honour  to  him,  doom'd  splendidly  to  die. 
Child  of  the  city  whose  foster-child  am  I, 
Who,  hotly  leading  up  the  ensanguin'd  hill 
His  charging  thousand,  fell  without  a  word  — 
Fell,  but  shall  fall  not  from  our  memory. 
Also  for  them  let  honour's  voice  be  heard 
Who  nameless  sleep,  while  dull  time  covereth 
With  no  illustrious  shade  of  laurel  tree. 
But  with  the  poppy  alone,  their  deeds  and  death. 

92 


SONNETS    FROM    "VER   TENEBROSUM" 


RESTORED   ALLEGIANCE 

T^ARK  is  thy  trespass^  deep  be  thy  remorse, 
O  England  !     Fittingly  thine  own  feet  bleed, 
Submissive  to  the  purblind  guides  that  lead 
Thy  weary  steps  along  this  rugged  course. 
Yet    .    .    .   when   I   glance   abroad,  and    track   the 

source 
More  selfish  far,  of  other  nations'  deed. 
And  mark  their  tortuous  craft,  their  jealous  greed. 
Their  serpent-wisdom  or  mere  soulless  force. 
Homeward  returns  my  vagrant  fealty, 
Crying,  "  O  England,  shouldst  thou  one  day  fall, 
Shatter'd  in  ruins  by  some  Titan  foe. 
Justice  were  thenceforth  weaker  throughout  all 
The  world,  and  Truth  less  passionately  free. 
And  God  the  poorer  for  thine  overthrow." 


93 


SONNETS  FROM  "VER  TENEBROSUM 


GORDON 

ARAB,  Egyptian,  English — by  the  sword 
Cloven,  or  pierced  with  spears,  or  bullet-mown — 
In  equal  fate  they  sleep  ;  their  dust  is  grown 
A  portion  of  the  fiery  sands  abhorred. 
And  thou,  what  hast  thou,  hero,  for  reward. 
Thou,    England's    glory    and    her   shame  ?      O'er- 

thrown 
Thou  liest,  unburied,  or  with  grave  unknown 
As  his  to  whom  on  Nebo's  height  the  Lord 
Showed  all  the  land  of  Gilead,  unto  Dan  ; 
Judah  sea-fringed  ;  Manasseh  and  Ephraini ; 
And  Jericho  palmy,  to  where  Zoar  lay ; 
And  in  a  valley  of  Moab  buried  him. 
Over  against  Beth-Peor,  but  no  man 
Knows  of  his  sepulchre  unto  this  day. 


94 


SONNETS   FROM   "VER   TENEBROSUM" 


FOREIGN    MENACE 

T  MARVEL  that  this  land,  whereof  1  claim 

The  glory  of  sonship — for  it  was  erewhile 

A  gloiy  to  be  sprung  of  Britain's  isle, 

Though  now  it  well-nigh  more  I'esembles  shame — 

I  marvel  that  this  land  with  heart  so  tame 

Can  brook  the  northern  insolence  and  guile. 

But  most  it  angers  me,  to  think  how  vile 

Art    thou,    how    base,    from    whom    the    insult 

came, 
Unwieldy  laggard,  many  an  age  behind 
Thy  sister  Powers,  in  brain  and  conscience  both  ; 
In  recognition  of  man's  widening  mind 
And  flexile  adaptation  to  its  growth  : 
Brute  bulk,  that  bearest  on  thy  back,  half  loth, 
One  wretched  man,  most  pitied  of  mankind. 


95 


SONNETS   FROM   ''VER   TENEBROSUM 


HOME-ROOTEDNESS 

T  CANNOT  boast  myself  cosmopolite  ; 
I  own  to  "insularity/'  although 
Tis  fall'n  from  fashion,  as  full  well  I  know. 
For  somehow,  being  a  plain  and  simple  wight, 
I  am  skin-deep  a  child  of  the  new  light, 
But  chiefly  am  mere  Englishman  below, 
Of  island-fostering  ;  and  can  hate  a  foe. 
And  trust  my  kin  before  the  Muscovite. 
Whom  shall  I  trust  if  not  my  kin  ?     And  whom 
Account  so  near  in  natural  bonds  as  these 
Born  of  my  mother  England's  mighty  womb, 
Nursed  on  my  mother  England's  mighty  knees, 
And  luU'd  as  I  was  luU'd  in  glory  and  gloom 
With  cradle-song  of  her  protecting  seas  ? 

96 


SONNETS   FROM   "VER  TENEBROSUM 


OUR   EASTERN   TREASURE 

TN  cobwebb'd  corners  dusty  and  dim  I  hear 
A  thin  voice  pipingly  revived  of  late. 
Which  saith  our  India  is  a  cumbrous  weight. 
An  idle  decoration,  bought  too  dear. 
The  wiser  world  contemns  not  gorgeous  gear ; 
Just  pride  is  no  mean  factor  in  a  State  ; 
The  sense  of  greatness  keeps  a  nation  great ; 
And  mighty  they  who  mighty  can  appear. 
It  may  be  that  if  hands  of  greed  could  steal 
From  England's  grasp  the  envied  orient  prize. 
This  tide  of  gold  would  flood  her  still  as  now  : 
But  were  she  the  same  England,  made  to  feel 
A  brightness  gone  from  out  tliose  starry  eyes, 
A  splendour  from  that  constellated  brow  ? 

97  G 


SONNETS   FROM   "VER  TENEBROSUM" 


NIGHTMARE 

(Written  during  apparent  Imminence  of  War) 

TN  a  false  dream  I  saw  the  Foe  prevail. 
The  war  was  ended  ;  the  last  smoke  had  rolled 
Away  :  and  we,  erewhile  the  strong  and  bold, 
Stood  broken,  humbled,  withered,  weak  and  pale, 
And  moan'd,  "Oar  greatness  is  become  a  tale 
To  tell  our  children's  babes  when  we  are  old. 
They  shall  put  by  their  playthings  to  be  told 
How  England  once,  before  the  years  of  bale. 
Throned  above  trembling,  puissant,  grandiose,  calm. 
Held  Asia's  richest  jewel  in  her  palm  ; 
And  with  unnumbered  isles  barbaric,  she 
The  broad  hem  of  her  glistering  robe  impearl'd  ; 
Then,  when  she  wound  her  arms  about  the  world. 
And  had  for  vassal  the  obsequious  sea." 

98 


ART 


ART 

nPHE  thousand  painful  steps  at  last  are  trod^ 
At  last  the  temple's  difficult  door  we  win  ; 

But  perfect  on  his  pedestal,  the  god 
Freezes  us  hopeless  when  we  enter  in. 


99 


THE    LUTE-PLAYER 


THE   LUTE- PLAYER 

^HE  was  a  lady  great  and  splendid, 

I  was  a  minstrel  in  her  halls. 
A  warrior  like  a  prince  attended 

Stayed  his  steed  by  the  castle  walls. 

Far  had  he  fared  to  gaze  upon  her. 

"  O  rest  thee  now,  Sir  Knight/'  she  said. 
The  warrior  wooed,  the  warrior  won  her^ 

In  time  of  snowdrops  they  were  wed, 
I  made  sweet  music  in  his  honour, 

And  longed  to  strike  him  dead. 

I  passed  at  midnight  from  her  portal  : 
Throughout  the  world  till  death  I  rove  : 

Ah,  let  me  make  this  lute  immortal 
With  rapture  of  my  hate  and  love  ! 

100 


BEAUTY'S    METEMPSYCHOSIS 


BEAUTY'S   METEMPSYCHOSIS 

nPHAT  beauty  such  as  thine 
Should  die  indeed, 
Were  ordinance  too  wantonly  malign  ! 
No  wit  may  reconcile  so  cold  a  creed 

With  beauty  such  as  thine. 

From  wave  and  star  and  flower 
Some  effluence  rare 
Was  lent  thee,  a  divine  but  transient  dower  : 
Thou  yield'st  it  back  from  eyes  and  lips  and  hair 

To  wave  and  star  and  flower. 

Shouldst  thou  to-morrow  die. 
Thou  still  shalt  be 
Found  in  the  rose  and  met  in  all  the  sky  : 
And  from  the  ocean's  heart  shalt  sing  to  me, 

Shouldst  thou  to-morrow  die. 


101 


RELUCTANT    SUMMER 


RELUCTANT   SUMMER 

"DELUCTANT  Summer  !  once^  a  maid 

Full  easy  of  access, 
In  many  a  bee-frequented  shade 

Thou  didst  thy  lover  bless. 
Divinely  unreproved  I  played. 

Then,  with  each  liberal  tress — 
And  art  thou  grown  at  last  afraid 

Of  some  too  close  caress  ? 

Or  deem'st  that  if  thou  shouldst  abide 

My  passion  might  decay  ? 
Thou  leav'st  me  pining  and  denied. 

Coyly  thou  say'st  me  nay. 
Ev'n  as  I  woo  thee  to  my  side, 

Thou,  importuned  to  stay, 
Like  Orpheus'  half-recovered  bride 

Ebb'st  from  my  arms  away. 

102 


KEATS 


KEATS 


TXE  dwelt  with  the  bright  gods  of  elder  time, 
On  earth  and  in  their  cloudy  haunts  above. 

He  loved  them  :  and  in  recompense  sublime. 
The  gods,  alas  !  gave  him  their  fatal  love. 


103 


AT   THE    GRAVE   OF   CHARLES    LAMB 


AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  CHARLES  LAMB, 
IN   EDMONTON 

"VrOT  here,  O  teeming  City,  was  it  meet 

Thy  lover,  thy  most  faithful,  should  repose. 

But  where  the  multitudinous  life-tide  flows 

Whose  ocean-murmur  was  to  him  more  sweet 

Than  melody  of  birds  at  morn,  or  bleat 

Of  flocks  in  Spring-time,  there  should  Earth  enclose 

His  earth,  amid  thy  thronging  joys  and  woes. 

There,  'neath  the  music  of  thy  million  feet. 

In  love  of  thee  this  lover  knew  no  peer. 

Thine  eastern  or  thy  western  fane  had  made 

Fit  habitation  for  his  noble  shade. 

Mother  of  mightier  far,  of  none  more  dear. 

Not  here,  in  rustic  exile,  O  not  hei'e, 

Thy  Elia  like  an  alien  should  be  laid  ! 


104 


TO    AUSTIN    DOBSON 


TO    AUSTIN    DOBSON 

TT'ES  !  urban  is  your  Muse,  and  owns 
An  empire  based  on  London  stones  ; 
Yet  flow'rs,  as  mountain  violets  sweet, 
Spring  from  the  pavement  'neath  her  feet. 

Of  wilder  birth  this  Muse  of  mine, 
Hill-cradled,  and  baptized  with  brine  ; 
And  'tis  for  her  a  sweet  despair 
To  watch  that  courtly  step  and  air ! 

Yet  surely  she,  without  reproof, 

Greeting  may  send  from  I'ealms  aloof, 

And  even  claim  a  tie  in  blood. 

And  dare  to  deem  it  sisterhood. 
105 


TO    AUSTIN    DOBSON 

For  well  we  knoAv,  those  Maidens  be 
All  daughters  of  Mnemosyne  ; 
And  'neath  the  unifying  sun. 
Many  the  songs — but  Song  is  one. 


106 


LINES   IN   A  FLYLEAF   OF  ''CHRISTABEL" 


LINES    IN    A    FLYLEAF    OF 
"CHRISTABEL" 

TN HOSPITABLY  hast  thou  entertained, 

O  Poetj  us  the  bidden  to  thy  board, 

Whom     in     mid-feast,     and     while     our     thousand 

mouths 
Are  one  laudation  of  the  festal  cheer. 
Thou  from  thy  table  dost  dismiss,  unfilled. 
Yet  loudlier  thee  than  many  a  lavish  host 
We  praise,  and  oftener  thy  repast  half-served 
Than  many  a  stintless  banquet,  prodigally 
Through   satiate  hours    prolonged ;  nor    praise    less 

well 
Because  with  tongues  thou  hast  not  cloyed,  and  lips 
That  mourn  the  parsimony  of  affluent  souls. 
And  mix  the  lamentation  with  the  laud. 


107 


A    GOLDEN    HOUR 


A   GOLDEN    HOUR 

A    BECKONING  spirit  of  gladness  seemed  afloat, 
That  lightly  danced  in  laughing  air  before  us  : 
The  earth  was  all  in  tune,  and  you  a  note 
Of  Nature's  happy  chorus. 

'Twas  like  a  vernal  morn,  yet  overhead 

The  leafless  boughs  across  the  lane  wei'e  knitting 
The  ghost  of  some  forgotten  Spring,  we  said, 
O'er  Winter's  world  comes  flitting. 

Or  was  it  Spring  herself,  that,  gone  astray. 

Beyond  the  alien  frontier  chose  to  tarry .'' 

Or  but  some  bold  outrider  of  the  May, 

Some  April-emissary  ? 
108 


A    GOLDEN    HOUR 

The  apj:);irition  faded  on  the  air, 

Capricious  and  incalculable  comer. — 
Wilt  thou  too  pass,  and  leave  my  chill  days  bare, 
And  fall'n  my  phantom  Summer  ? 


109 


BYRON   THE  VOLUPTUARY 


BYRON   THE   VOLUPTUARY 

nnOO  avid  of  earth's  bliss,  he  was  of  those 

Whom  DeHght  flies  because  they  give  her  chase. 
Only  the  odour  of  her  wild  hair  blows 

Back  in  their  faces  hunfferinsj  for  her  face. 


110 


THE    FUGITIVE    IDEAL 


THE   FUGITIVE   IDEAL 

AS  some  most  pure  and  noble  face^ 

Seen  in  the  thronged  and  hurrying  street, 
Sheds  o'er  the  world  a  sudden  grace, 

A  flying  odour  sweet, 
Then,  passing,  leaves  the  cheated  sense 
Baulked  with  a  phantom  excellence ; 


So,  on  our  souls  the  visions  rise 

Of  that  fair  life  we  never  led  : 
They  flash  a  splendour  past  our  eyes, 

We  start,  and  they  are  fled  : 
They  pass,  and  leave  us  Avith  blank  gaze. 
Resigned  to  our  ignoble  days. 

Ill 


COLUMBUS 


COLUMBUS 

T^ROM  his  adventurous  pi'ime 
He  dreamed  the  dream  sublime 
Over  his  wandering  youth 
It  hungj  a  beckoning  star. 
At  last  the  vision  fled, 
And  left  him  in  its  stead 
The  scarce  sublimer  truth, 
The  world  he  found  afar. 


The  scattered  isles  that  stand 

Warding  the  mightier  land 

Yielded  their  maidenhood 

To  his  imperious  prow. 
112 


COLUMBUS 

The  mainland  within  call 
Lay  vast  and  virginal : 

In  its  blue  porch  he  stood : 
No  more  did  fate  allow. 

No  more  !  but  ah,  how  much, 
To  be  the  first  to  touch 
The  veriest  azure  hem 
Of  that  majestic  robe  ! 
Lord  of  the  lordly  sea, 
Earth's  mightiest  sailor  he  : 
Great  Captain  among  them, 
The  captors  of  the  globe. 

When  shall  the  world  forget 
Thy  glory  and  our  debt, 

Indomitable  soul. 
Immortal  Genoese .'' 
Not  while  the  shrewd  salt  gale 
Whines  amid  shroud  and  sail. 

Above  the  rhythmic  roll 

And  thunder  of  the  seas. 
113 


TO    JAMES    BROMLEY 


TO   JAMES   BROMLEY 
With    "  W  o  r  d  s  w  o  r  t  h's    Grave" 

Tj^RE  vandal  lords  with  lust  of  gold  accurst 

Deface  each  hallowed  hillside  we  revere — 
Ere  cities  in  their  million-throated  thirst 

Menace  each  sacred  mere — 
Let  us  give  thanks  because  one  nook  hath  been 

Unflooded  yet  by  desecration's  wave, 
The  little  churchyard  in  the  valley  green 

That  holds  our  Wordsworth's  srave. 


'Twas  there  I  plucked  these  elegiac  blooms. 

There  where  he  rests  'mid  comrades  fit  and  few, 

And  thence  I  bring  this  growth  of  classic  tombs, 

An  offering,  friend,  to  you — 
114 


TO    JAMES    BROMLEY 

You  who  have  loved  like  me  his  simple  themes^ 
Loved  his  sincere  large  accent  nobly  plain, 

And  loved  the  land  whose  mountains  and  whose 
streams 
Are  lovelier  for  his  strain. 

It  may  be  that  his  manly  chant,  beside 

More  dainty  numbers,  seems  a  rustic  tune  ; 
It    may   be,    thought    has    broadened    since    he 
died 

Upon  the  century's  noon  ; 
It  may  be  that  we  can  no  longer  share 

The  faith  which  from  his  fathers  he  received  ; 
It  may  be  that  our  doom  is  to  despair 

Where  he  with  joy  believed  ; — 

Enough    that    there    is    none    since    I'isen    who 

sings 

A  song  so  gotten  of  the  immediate  soul. 

So  instant  from  the  vital  fount  of  things 

Which  is  our  source  and  goal ; 
115 


TO    JAMES    BROMLEY 

And  though  at  touch  of  later  liands  there  float 
More    artful    tones    than    from    his   lyre    he 
drew^ 

Ages  may  pass  ere  trills  another  note 
So  sweet,  so  great,  so  true. 


116 


THE    SAINT    AND    THE    SATYR 


THE   SAINT  AND   THE  SATYR 

(Medi«;val  Legend) 

^AINT  ANTHONY  the  eremite 
He  wandered  in  the  wold^ 

And  there  lie  saw  a  hoofed  wight 
That  blew  his  hands  for  cold. 

"  What  dost  thou  here  in  misery. 

That  better  far  wert  dead  ?  " 
The  eremite  Saint  Anthony 

Unto  the  Satyr  said. 

"  Lorn  in  the  wold,"  the  thing  replied^ 

"  I  sit  and  make  my  moan. 

For  all  the  gods  I  loved  have  died, 

And  I  am  left  alone. 
117 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  SATYR 

"Silent  in  Paphos  Venus  sleeps, 

And  Jove  on  Ida  mute  ; 
And  every  living  creature  weeps 

Pan  and  his  perished  flute. 

"  The  Faun,  his  laughing  heart  is  broke  ; 

The  nymph,  her  fountain  fails  ; 
And  driven  from  out  the  hollow  oak 

The  Hamadryad  wails. 

"  A  God  more  beautiful  than  mine 
Hath  conquered  mine,  they  say. — 

Ah,  to  that  fair  young  God  of  thine. 
For  me  I  pray  thee  pray  !  " 


118 


"THY  VOICE  FROM  INMOST  DREAMLAND' 


'T^HY  voice  from  inmost  dreaml.and  calls 
The  wastes  of  sleep  thou  makest  fair  ; 

Bright  o'er  the  ridge  of  darkness  falls 
The  cataract  of  thy  hair. 

The  morn  renews  its  golden  birth  : 

Thou  with  the  vanquished  night  dost  fade ; 

And  leav'st  the  ponderable  earth 
Less  real  than  thy  shade. 


119 


THE    CATHEDRAL    SPIRE 


THE    CATHEDRAL    SPIRE 

TT  soars  like  hearts  of  hapless  men  who  dare 
To  sue  for  gifts  the  gods  refuse  to  allot ; 

Who  climb  for  ever  toward  they  know  not  where, 
Baffled  for  ever  by  they  know  not  what. 


120 


A    DEDICATION 


A   DEDICATION 

(To  London,  my  Hostess) 

/^ITY  that  AVcaitest  to  be  sung, — 

Foi*  whom  no  hand 
To  mighty  strains  the  lyre  hath  strung 

In  all  this  land, 
Though  mightier  theme  the  mightiest  ones 

Sang  not  of  old, 
The  thrice  three  sisters'  godlike  sons 

With  lips  of  gold, — 
Till  greater  voice  thy  greatness  sing 

In  loftier  times. 

Suffer  an  alien  muse  to  bring 

Her  votive  rhymes. 
121 


A    DEDICATION 

Yes,  alien  in  thy  midst  am  I, 

Not  of  thy  brood  ; 
The  nursling  of  a  norland  sky 

Of  rougher  mood  : 
To  me,  thy  tarrying  guest,  to  me, 

'Mid  thy  loud  hum, 
Strayed  visions  of  the  moor  or  sea 

Tormenting  come. 
Above  the  thunder  of  the  wheels 

That  hurry  by. 
From  lapping  of  lone  waves  there  steals 

A  far-sent  sigh  ; 
And  many  a  dream-reared  mountain  crest 

My  feet  have  trod, 
There  where  thy  Minster  in  the  West 

Gropes  toward  God. 
Yet,  from  thy  presence  if  I  go, 

By  woodlands  deep 
Or  ocean-fringes,  thou,  I  know, 

Wilt  haunt  my  sleep  ; 

Thy  restless  tides  of  life  will  foam, 

Still,  in  my  sight ; 
122 


A    DEDICATION 

Thy  imperturbable  dark  dome 
Will  crown  my  night. 


O  sea  of  living  waves  that  roll 

On  golden  sands^ 
Or  break  on  tragic  reef  and  shoal 

'Mid  fatal  lands ; 
O  forest  wrought  of  living  leaves. 

Some  filled  with  Spring, 
Where  joy  life's  festal  raiment  weaves 

And  all  birds  sing, — 
Some  trampled  in  the  miry  ways, 

Or  whirled  along 
By  fury  of  tempestuous  days, — 

Take  thou  my  song  ! 


For  thou  hast  scorned  not  heretofore 

The  gifts  of  rhyme 

I  dropped,  half  faltering,  at  thy  door, 

City  sublime ; 

123 


A    DEDICATION 

And  though  'tis  true  I  am  but  guest 

Within  thy  gate^ 
Unto  thy  hands  I  owe  the  best 

Awards  of  fete. 
Imperial  hostess  !  thanks  from  me 

To  thee  belong : 
O  living  forest,  living  sea. 

Take  thou  my  song  ! 


124 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 


THE   DREAM   OF   MAN 

nnO  the  eye  and  the  ear  of  the  Dreamer  this  Dream 

out  of  darkness  flew^ 
Through  the  horn  or  the  ivory  portal,  but  he  wist 

not  which  of  the  two. 

It  was  the  Human  Spirit,  of  all  men's  souls  the  Soul, 
Man  the   unwearied   climber,   that   climbed   to   the 

unknown  goal. 
And  up  the  steps  of  the  ages,  the  difficult  steep  ascent, 
Man  the  unwearied  climber  pauseless  and  dauntless 

went, 
^ons  rolled  behind  him  with  thunder  of  far  retreat. 
And  still  as  he  strove  he  conquered  and  laid  his  foes 

at  his  feet. 

Inimical  powers  of  nature,  tempest  and  flood  and  fire, 
125 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

The  spleen  of  fickle  seasons  that  loved  to  baulk  his 

desire. 
The  breath  of  hostile  climates,  the  ravage  of  blight 

and  dearth, 
The  old  unrest  that  vexes  the  heart  of  the  moody 

earth. 
The  genii  swift  and  radiant  sabreing  heaven  with 

flame, 
He,  with  a  keener  weapon,  the  sword  of  his   wit, 

overcame. 
Disease  and  her  ravening  offspring,  pain  with   the 

thousand  teeth, 
He  drave  into  night  primeval,  the  nethermost  worlds 

beneath. 
Till  the  Loi'd  of  Death,  the  undying,  ev'n  Asrael  the 

King, 
No  moi'e  with  Furies  for  heralds  came  armed  with 

scourge  and  sting, 
But  gentle   of   voice   and   of  visage,   by   calm    Age 

ushered  and  led, 

A  guest,  serenely  featured,  entering,  woke  no  dread. 

And,  as  the  rolling  aeons  retreated  with  pomp  of  sound, 
126 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

Man's  Spirit,  grown  too  lordly  for  this  mean  orb  to 

bound, 
By  arts  in  his  youth  undreamed  of  his  terrene  fetters 

broke, 
With  enterprise  ethereal  spurning  the  natal  yoke, 
And,  stung  with  divine  ambition,  and  fired  with  a 

glorious  greed, 
He  annexed  the  stars  and  the  planets  and  peopled 

them  with  his  seed. 

Then  said  he,  "  The  infinite  Scripture  I  have  read 

and  interpreted  clear. 
And    searching   all    worlds    I    have    found   not    my 

sovereign  or  my  peer. 
In  what  room  of  the   palace  of  nature  resides  the 

invisible  God  ? 
For  all  her  doors  I  have  opened,  and  all  her  floors  I 

have  trod. 
If  greater  than  I  be  her  tenant,  let  him  answer  my 

challenging  call  : 
Till  then  I  admit  no  rival,  but  crown  myself  master 

of  all." 

127 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

And  forth  as  that  word  went  bruited,  by  Man  unto 

Man  were  raised 
Fanes  of  devout  self-homage^  where  he  who  praised 

was  the  praised ; 
And  from  vast  unto  vast  of  creation  the  new  evangel 

ran. 
And  an  odour  of  world-wide  incense  went  up  from 

Man  unto  Man  ; 
Until,    on    a    solemn    feast-day,    when    the    world's 

usurping  lord 
At  a  million   impious  altars   his   own   proud   image 

adored, 
God  spake  as  He  stept  from  His  ambush :  "  O  great 

in  thine  own  conceit, 
I  will  show  thee  thy  source,  how  humble,  thy  goal, 

for  a  ffod  how  unmeet." 


Thereat,   by  the  word   of  the  Maker  the  Spirit  of 

Man  was  led 
To    a    mighty  peak    of  vision,    where   God   to  His 

creature  said  : 

128 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

"  Look  eastward  toward  time's  sunrise."     And,  age 

upon  age  untold. 
The  Spirit  of  Man  saw  clearly  the  Past  as  a  chart 

out-rolled, — 
Beheld  his  base  beginnings  in  the  depths  of  time, 

and  his  strife 
With  beasts  and  crawling  horrors  for  leave  to  live, 

when  life 
Meant  but  to  slay  and  to  procreate,  to  feed  and  to 

sleep,  among 
Mere    mouths,     voracities     boundless,    blind     lusts, 

desires  without  tongue. 
And  ferocities  vast,  fulfilling  their  being's  malignant 

law. 
While   nature   was  one   hunger,   and   one   hate,   all 

fangs  and  maw. 


With  that,  for  a  single  moment,  abashed  at  his  own 

descent. 

In  humbleness  Man's  Spirit  at  the  feet  of  the  Maker 

bent ; 

129  I 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

Batj  swifter  than  light;  he  recovered  the  stature  and 

pose  of  his  pride. 
And,  "  Think  not  thus  to  shame  me  with  my  mean 

birth/'  he  cried. 
"  This  is  my  loftiest  greatness,  to  have  been  born  so 

low  ; 
Greater  than   Thou   the   ungrowing  am   I   that  for 

ever  grow." 
And    God    forbore    to    rebuke    him,   but    answered 

brief  and  stern, 
Bidding  him  toward  time's  sunset  his  vision  west- 

ward  turn ; 
And  the  Spirit  of  Man  obeying  beheld  as  a  chart 

out-rolled 
The  likeness  and  form  of  the  Future,  age  upon  age 

untold ; 
Beheld  his  own  meridian,  and  beheld  his  dark  decline, 
His  secular  fall  to  nadir  from  summits  o^  light  divine, 
Till  at  last,  amid  worlds   exhausted,  and  bankrupt 

of  force  and  fire, 

'Twas  his,  in  a  torrent  of  darkness,  like  a  sputtering 

lamp  to  expire. 

l.SO 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

Then  a  war  of  shame  and  anger  did  the  realm  of 

his  soul  divide  ; 
"  'Tis  false,  'tis  a  lying  vision,"   in  the  face  of  his 

God  he  cried. 
"  Thou  thinkest  to  daunt  me  with   shadows ;   not 

such  as  Thou  feign'st,  my  doom  : 
From   glory  to   rise   unto  glory   is  mine,  who  have 

risen  from  gloom. 
I  doubt  if  Thou  knew'st  at  my  making  how  near  to 

Thy  throne  I  should  clind>. 
O'er    the    mountain    slopes    of    the    ages    and    the 

conquered  peaks  of  time. 
Nor   shall    I    look    backward    nor    rest   me   till   the 

uttermost  heights  I  have  trod. 
And   am   equalled   with   Thee   or   above   Thee,  the 

mate  or  the  master  of  God." 


Ev'n    thus     Man    turned    from    the     Maker,    with 

thundered  defiance  wild. 

And  God  with  a  terrible  silence  reproved  the  speech 

of  His  child. 

LSI 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

And  Man  returned  to  his  labours^  and  stiffened  the 

neck  of  his  will ; 
And  the  aeons  still  went  rolling,  and  his  power  was 

crescent  still. 
But  yet  there   remained   to   conquer  one   foe,   and 

the  gi-eatest — although 
Despoiled  of  his  ancient  terrors,  at  hearty  as  of  old, 

a  foe — 
Unmaker  of  all,    and    renewer,   who    winnows    the 

world  with  his  wing, 
The  Lord  of  Death,  the  undying,  ev'n   Asrael  the 

King. 

And  lo,  Man  mustered  his  forces  the  war  of  wars  to 

wage. 
And  with  storm  and  thunder  of  onset  did  the  foe  of 

foes  engage, 
And  the  Lord  of  Death,  the  undying,  was  beset  and 

harried  sore. 

In  his  immemorial  fastness  at  night's  aboriginal  core. 

And   during  years    a   thousand   man  leaguered    his 

enemy's  hold, 

132 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

While  nature  was  one  deep  tremor^  and  the  heart  of 

the  world  waxed  cold, 
Till    the    phantom    battlements    wavered,    and    the 

ghostly  fortress  fell. 
And   Man  with   shadowy   fetters   bound   fast    great 

Asrael. 

So,  to  each  star  in  the  heavens,  the  exultant  word 

was  blown, 
The  annunciation  tremendous,  Death  is  overthrown  ! 
And  Space  in  her  ultimate  borders,  prolonging  the 

jubilant  tone, 
With    hollow   ingeminations,  sighed,   Death  is  over- 

throivn  ! 
And    God    in    His    house    of    silence,    where     He 

dwelleth  aloof,  alone, 
Paused  in  His  tasks  to  hearken  :  Death  is  overthrown  ! 

Then  a  solemn  and  high  thanksgiving  by  Man  unto 
Man  was  sung, 

In  his  temples  of  self-adoration,  with  his  own  multi- 
tudinous tongue  ; 

133 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

And  he  said  to  his  Soul :  "  Rejoice  tliou,  for  thy  last 

great  foe  lies  bound, 
Ev'n     Asrael     the     Unmaker,     unmade,     disarmed, 

discrowned." 


And   behold,   his  Soul   rejoiced  not,   the   breath   of 

whose  being  was  strife. 
For  life  with  nothing  to  vanquish  seemed  but  the 

shadow  of  life. 
No  goal  invited  and  promised  and  divinely  provoca- 
tive shone ; 
And  Fear  having  fled,  her  sister,  blest  Hope,  in  her 

train  was  gone ; 
And  the  coping  and  crown  of  achievement  was  hell 

than  defeat  more  dire — 
1'he  torment  of  all-things-compassed,  the  plague  of 

nought-to-desire ; 
And  Man  the  invincible  queller,  man  with  his  foot 

on  his  foes, 

In   boundless   satiety  hungered,  restless  from   utter 

repose, 

134 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

Victor  of  nature,  victor  of  the  prince  of  the  powers 

of  the  air, 
By  mighty  weariness  vanquished,  and  crowned  with 

august  despair. 


Then,  at   his   dreadful  zenith,  he  cried  unto  God  : 

"  ()  Thou 
Whom  of  old  in  my  days  of  striving  methought   I 

needed  not, — now 
In  this  my  abject  glory,  my  hopeless  and  helpless 

might, 
Hearken  and  cheer  anil  succour  ! "  and  God   from 

His  lonely  height. 
From   eternity's    passionless    summits,   on   suppliant 

Man  looked  down. 
And  his  brow  waxed  human  with  pity,  belying  its 

awful  crown. 
"  Thy    richest    possession,"     He    answered,    "  blest 

Hope,  will  I  restore, 

And  the  infinite  wealth  of  weakness  which  was  thy 

strength  of  yore ; 

135 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

And  I  will  arouse  from  slumber,  in  his  hold  where 

bound  he  lies. 
Thine   enemy   most    benefic ; — O   Asrael,   hear  and 

rise  ! " 

And  a  sound  like  the  heart  of  nature  in  sunder 
cloven  and  torn, 

Announced,  to  the  ear  universal,  undying  Death 
new-born. 

Sublime  he  rose  in  his  fetters,  and  shook  the  chains 
aside 

Ev'n  as  some  mortal  sleeper  'mid  forests  in  autumn- 
tide 

Rises  and  shakes  off  lightly  the  leaves  that  lightly 
fell 

On  his  limbs  and  his  hair  unheeded  while  as  yet 
he  slumbered  well. 

And  Deity  paused  and  hearkened,  then  turned  to 

the  undivine. 

Saying,  "  O   Man,   My   creature,  thy   lot  was   more 

blest  than  Mine. 

136 


THE    DREAM    OF    MAN 

I    taste   not  delight    of  seeking^   nor   the    boon    of 

longing  know. 
There  is  but  one  joy  transcendent,  and  I  hoard  it 

not  but  bestow. 
I  hoard  it  not  nor  have  tasted,  but  freely  I  gave  it 

to  thee — 
The  joy  of  most  glorious  striving,  which   dieth   in 

victory." 


Thus,  to  the  Soul  of  the   Dreamer,  this  Dream  out 

of  darkness  flew. 
Through  the  horn  or  the  ivory  portal,  but  he  wist 

not  which  of  the  two. 


137 


EPIGRAM 


'T'OILING  and  yearning,  'tis  man's  doom  to  see 
No  perfect  creature  fashion'd  of  his  hands. 

Insulted  by  a  flower's  immaculacy, 

And  mock'd  at  by  the  flawless  stars  he  stands. 


138 


VITA    NUOVA 


VITA  NUOVA 

T  ONG  hath  she  slept,  forgetful  of  delight : 
At  last,  at  last,  the  enchanted  princess,  Earth, 
Claimed  with  a  kiss  by  Spring  the  adventurer, 
In  slumber  knows  the  destined  lips,  and  thrilled 
Through  all  the  deeps  of  her  unageing  heart 
With  passionate  necessity  of  joy, 
Wakens,  and  yields  her  loveliness  to  love. 

O  ancient  streams,  O  far-descended  woods 

Full  of  the  fluttering  of  melodious  souls  ; 

O  hills  and  valleys  that  adorn  yourselves 

In  solemn  jubilation  ;  winds  and  clouds, 

Ocean  and  land  in  stormy  nuptials  clasped. 

And  all  exuberant  creatures  that  acclaim 

The  Earth's  divine  renewal :  lo,  I  too 
139 


VITA    NUOVA 

With  yours  would  mingle  somewhat  of  glad  song. 

I  too  have  come  through  wintry  terrors, — yea. 

Through  tempest  and  through  cataclysm  of  soul 

Have  come,  and  am  delivered.      Me  the  Spring, 

Me  also,  dimly  with  new  life  hath  touched. 

And  with  regenerate  hope,  the  salt  of  life  ; 

And  I  would  dedicate  these  thankful  tears 

To  whatsoever  Power  beneficent. 

Veiled    though    his    countenance,    undivulged     his 

thought, 
Hath  led  me  from  the  haunted  darkness  forth 
Into  the  gracious  air  and  vernal  morn. 
And  suffers  me  to  know  my  spirit  a  note 
Of  this  great  chorus,  one  with  bird  and  stream 
And  voiceful  mountain, — nay,  a  string,  how  jai-red 
And  all  but  broken  !  of  that  lyre  of  life 
Whereon  himself,  the  master  harp-player. 
Resolving  all  its  mortal  dissonance 
To  one  immortal  and  most  perfect  strain, 
Harps  without  pause,  building  with  song  the  world. 


18th  March  1893. 

140 


THE    FIRST    SKYI.ARK    OF    SPRING 


THE   FIRST   SKYLARK    OF   SPRING 

nnWO  worlds  hast  thou  to  dwell  in^  Sweet, 

The  virginal,  untroubled  sky, 
And  this  vext  region  at  my  feet. — 
Alas,  but  one  have  I  ! 

To  all  my  songs  there  clings  the  shade, 
The  dulling  shade,  of  mundane  care. 
They  amid  mortal  mists  ai'e  made, — 
Thine,  in  immortal  air. 

My  heart  is  dashed  with  griefs  and  fears ; 

My  song  comes  fluttering,  and  is  gone. 

O  high  above  the  home  of  tears. 

Eternal  Joy,  sing  on  ! 
141 


THE    FIRST    SKYLARK    OF    SPRING 

Not  loftiest  bard,  of  mightiest  mind, 

Shall  ever  chant  a  note  so  pure, 
Till  he  can  cast  this  earth  behind 
And  breathe  in  heaven  secure. 


We  sing  of  Life,  with  stormy  breath 

That  shakes  the  lute's  distempered  string : 
We  sing  of  Love,  and  loveless  Death 
Takes  up  the  song  we  sing. 


And  born  in  toils  of  Fate's  control. 

Insurgent  from  the  womb,  we  strive 
With  proud,  unmanumitted  soul 
To  burst  the  golden  gyve. 


Thy  spirit  knows  nor  bounds  nor  bars ; 

On  thee  no  shreds  of  thraldom  hang  ; 

Not  more  enlarged,  the  morning  stars 

Their  great  Te  Deum  sang. 
142 


THE    FIRST    SKYLARK    OF    SPRING 

Rut  I  am  fettered  to  the  sod, 

And  but  forget  my  bonds  an  hour ; 
In  amplitude  of  dreams  a  god, 
A  slave  in  dearth  of  power. 


And  fruitless  knowledge  clouds  my  soul. 

And  fretful  ignorance  irks  it  more. 
Thou  sing'st  as  if  thou  knew'st  the  whole, 
And  lightly  held'st  thy  lore  ! 


Somewhat  as  thou,  Man  once  could  sing, 

In  porches  of  the  lucent  morn, 
Ere  he  had  felt  his  lack  of  wing, 
Or  cursed  his  ii-on  bourn. 


The  springtime  bubbled  in  his  throat. 

The  sweet  sky  seemed  not  far  above. 

And  young  and  lovesome  came  the  note  ;- 

Ah,  thine  is  Youth  and  Love  ! 
143 


THE    FIRST    SKYLARK    OF    SPRING 

Thou  sing'st  of  what  he  knew  of  old. 

And  dreamhke  from  afar  recalls ; 
In  flashes  of  forgotten  gold 
An  orient  glory  falls. 

And  as  he  listens^  one  by  one 

Life's  utmost  splendours  blaze  more  nigh  ; 
Less  inaccessible  the  sun. 

Less  alien  grows  the  sky. 

For  thou  art  native  to  the  spheres. 

And  of  the  courts  of  heaven  art  free, 
And  carriest  to  his  temporal  ears 
News  from  eternity ; 

And  lead'st  him  to  the  dizzy  verge, 

And  lur'st  him  o'er  the  dazzling  line, 
Where  mortal  and  immortal  merge. 
And  human  dies  divine. 


144 


NIGHT    ON    CURBAR    EDGE 


NIGHT   ON    CURBAR   EDGE 

'VrO  echo  of  man's  life  pursues  my  ears  ; 
Nothing  disputes  this  Desolation's  reign  ; 
Change  comes  not,  this  dread  temple  to  profane, 
Where  time  by  aeons  reckons,  not  by  years. 
Its  patient  form  one  crag,  sole  stranded,  rears. 
Type  of  whate'er  is  destined  to  remain 
While  yon  still  host  encamped  on  night's  waste  plain 
Keeps  armed  watch,  a  million  quivering  spears. 

Hushed  are  the  wild  and  wing'd  lives  of  the  moor ; 

The  sleeping  sheep  nestle  'neath  ruined  wall. 

Or  unhewn  stones  in  random  concourse  hurled  : 

Solitude,  sleepless,  listens  at  Fate's  door  ; 

And  there  is  built  and  'stablisht  over  all 

Tremendous  silence,  older  than  the  world. 

145  K 


EPIGRAM 


TF  Nature  be  a  pliantasin,  as  thou  say'st, 
A  splendid  fiction  and  prodigious  dream, 

To  reach  the  real  and  true  I'll  make  no  haste. 
More  than  content  with  worlds  that  only  seem. 


146 


ODE    TO    LICINIUS 


ODE   TO    LICINIUS 

(Horace  II.  x.) 

T  ICINIUS,  wouklst  thou  vvibuly  steer 

The  pinnace  of  thy  soul. 
Not  always  trust  her  without  fear 

Where  deep-sea  billows  roll ; 
Nor,  to  the  sheltered  beach  too  near, 

Risk  shipwreck  on  the  shoal. 


Who  sees  in  fortune's  golden  mean 
All  his  desires  comprised, 

Midway  the  cot  and  court  between 
Hath  well  his  life  devised  ; 

For  riches,  hath  not  envied  been, 

Nor,  for  their  lack,  despised. 
147 


ODE    TO    LICINIUS 

Most  rocks  the  pine  that  soars  afar. 
When  leaves  are  tempest-whirled. 

Direst  the  crash  when  turrets  are 
In  dusty  ruin  hurled. 

The  thunder  loveth  best  to  scar 
The  briffht  brows  of  the  world. 


The  steadfast  mind,  that  to  tlie  end 

Is  fortune's  victor  still. 
Hath  yet  a  fear,  though  Fate  befriend 

A  hope,  though  all  seem  ill. 
Jove  can  at  will  the  winter  send. 

Or  call  the  spring  at  will. 


Full  oft  the  darkest  day  may  be 
Of  morrows  bright  the  sire. 

His  bow  not  everlastingly 
Apollo  bends  in  ire. 

At  times  the  silent  Muses  he 

Wakes  with  his  dulcet  lyre. 
148 


ODE    TO    LICINIUS 

Wlien  life's  straits  roar  and  hem  thee  sore, 

Be  bold  ;  naught  else  avails. 
But  when  thy  canvas  swells  before 

Too  proudly  prospering  gales, 
For  once  be  wise  with  coward's  lore. 

And  timely  reef  thy  sails. 


149 


THE    PLAY    OF    "KING    LEAR" 


THE    PLAY    OF    "KING    LEAR" 

TTERE  love  the  slain  with  Love  the  slayer  lies ; 

Deep  drown'd  are  both  in  the  same  sunless  pool. 
Up  from  its  depths  that  mirror  thundering  skies 

Bubbles  the  wan  mirth  of  the  mirthless  Fool. 


l.'iO 


TELL    ME    NOT    NOW 


TELL   ME   NOT   NOW 

HTELL  me  not  now,  if  love  for  love 
Thou  canst  return, — 

Now  while  around  us  and  above 

Day's  flambeaux  burn. 
Not  in  clear  noon,  with  speech  as  clear, 

Thy  heart  avow. 
For  every  gossip  wind  to  hear  ; 

Tell  me  not  now  ! 


Tell  me  not  now  the  tidings  sweet. 

The  news  divine ; 

A  little  longer  at  thy  feet 

Leave  me  to  pine. 
151 


TELL    ME    NOT    NOW 

I  would  not  have  the  gadding  bird 

Hear  from  his  bough  ; 
Nay,  though  I  famish  for  a  word, 

Tell  me  not  now  ! 

But  when  deep  trances  of  delight 

All  Nature  seal, 
When  round  the  world  the  arms  of  Night 

Caressing  steal. 
When  rose  to  dreaming  rose  says,  ^'  Dear, 

Dearest," — and  when 
Heaven  sighs  her  secret  in  earth's  ear. 

Ah,  tell  me  then  ! 


152 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 


THE   FATHER   OF   THE   FOREST 


/^LD  emperor  Yew,  fantastic  sire, 

Girt  with  thy  guard  of  dotard  kings, — 

What  ages  hast  thou  seen  retire 
Into  the  dusk  of  alien  things  ? 

What  mighty  news  hath  stormed  thy  sliade, 

Of  armies  perished,  realms  unmade  ? 


Already  wast  thou  great  and  wise. 
And  solenm  with  exceeding  eld, 

On  that  proud  morn  when  England's  eyes, 
W^et  with  tempestuous  joy,  beheld 

Round  her  rough  coasts  the  thundering  main 

Strewn  with  the  ruined  dream  of  Spain. 
153 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

Hardly  thou  count'st  them  long  ago, 
The  warring  faiths,  the  wavering  land, 

The  sanguine  sky's  delirious  glow, 

And  Cranraer's  scorched,  uplifted  hand. 

Wailed  not  the  woods  their  task  of  shame. 

Doomed  to  provide  the  insensate  flame  ? 


Mourned  not  the  rumouring  winds,  when  she. 
The  sweet  queen  of  a  tragic  hour. 

Crowned  with  her  snow-white  memory 
The  crimson  legend  of  the  Tower  ? 

Or  when  a  thousand  witcheries  lay 

Felled  with  one  stroke,  at  Fotheringay  ? 


Ah,  thou  hast  heard  the  iron  tread 
And  clang  of  many  an  armoured  age, 

And  well  recall'st  the  famous  dead. 
Captains  or  counsellors  brave  or  sage, 

Kings  that  on  kings  their  myriads  hurled, 

Ladies  whose  smile  embi'oiled  the  world. 
154< 


THE  FATHER  OF  THE  FOREST 

Rememberest  thou  the  perfect  knight, 
The  soldier,  courtier,  bard  in  one, 

Sidney,  that  pensive  Hesper-light 
O'er  Chivah'y's  depai'ted  sun  ? 

Knew'st  thou  the  virtue,  sweetness,  lore, 

Whose  nobly  hapless  name  was  More  ? 


Tlie  roystering  prince,  that  afterwai'd 
Belied  his  madcap  youth,  and  proved 

A  greatly  simple  warrior  lord 

Such  as  our  warrior  fathers  loved — 

Lives  he  not  still  ?  for  Shakespeare  sings 

The  last  of  our  adventurer  kings. 


His  battles  o'er,  he  takes  his  ease, 
Gloiy  put  by,  and  sceptred  toil. 

Round  him  the  carven  centuries 
Like  foi'est  branches  arch  and  coil. 

In  that  dim  fane,  he  is  not  sure 

Who  lost  or  won  at  Azincour ! 
155 


THE  FATHER  OF  THE  FOREST 

Roofed  by  the  mother  minster  vast 

That  guards  Augustine's  rugged  throne, 

The  darhng  of  a  knightly  Past 

Sleeps  in  his  bed  of  sculptured  stone, 

And  flings,  o'er  many  a  warlike  tale, 

The  shadow  of  his  dusky  mail. 


The  monarch  who,  albeit  his  crown 
Graced  an  august  and  sapient  head. 

Rode  roughshod  to  a  stained  renown 
O'er  Wallace  and  Llewellyn  dead. 

And  perished  in  the  hostile  land, 

With  restless  heart  and  ruthless  hand  ; 


Or  that  disastrous  king  on  whom 
Fate,  like  a  tempest,  early  fell. 

And  the  dark  secret  of  whose  doom 
The  Keep  of  Pomfret  kept  full  well ; 

Or  him  that  with  half  careless  words 

On  Becket  drew  the  dastard  swords  ; 
156 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

Or  Eleanor's  undaunted  son. 

That,  starred  with  idle  gloiy,  came 

Bearing  from  leaguered  Ascalon 
The  barren  splendour  of  his  fame, 

And,  vanquished  by  an  unknown  bow, 

Lies  vainly  great  at  Fontevraud  ; 


Or  him,  the  footprints  ot  whose  power 
Made  mightier  whom  he  overthrew ; 

A  man  built  like  a  mountain-tower, 
A  fortress  of  heroic  thew  ; 

The  Conqueror,  in  our  soil  who  set 

This  stem  of  Kinghood  flowering  yet  ;— 


These,  or  the  living  fame  of  these. 

Perhaps  thou  minglest — who  shall  say  ?- 

With  thrice  remoter  memories, 
And  phantoms  of  the  mistier  day. 

Long  ere  the  tanner's  daughter's  son 

Fi'om  Harold's  hands  this  realm  had  won. 
157 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

What  years  are  thine,  not  inine  to  guess ! 

The  stars  look  youthful,  thou  being  by ; 
Youthful  the  sun's  glad-heartedness  ; 

Witless  of  time  the  unageing  sky  ! 
And  these  dim-groping  roots  around 
So  dee})  a  human  Past  are  wound, 


That,  musing  in  thy  shade,  for  me 

The  tidings  scarce  would  strangely  fall 

Of  fair-haired  despots  of  the  sea 
Scaling  our  eastern  island-wall. 

From  their  long  ships  of  norland  pine, 

Their  "  surf-deer,"  driven  o'er  wilds  of  brine. 


Nay,  hid  by  thee  from  Summer's  gaze 
That  seeks  in  vain  this  couch  of  loam, 

1  should  behold,  without  amaze. 

Camped  on  yon  down  the  hosts  of  Rome, 

Nor  start  though  English  woodlands  heard 

The  self-same  mandatory  word 
158 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

As  by  the  Cataracts  of  the  Nile 
Marshalled  the  legions  long  ago. 

Or  where  the  lakes  are  one  blue  smile 
'Neath  pageants  of  Helvetian  snow, 

Or  'niid  the  Syrian  sands  that  lie 

Sick  of  the  day's  great  tearless  eye, 


Or  on  barbaric  plains  afar, 

Where,  under  Asia's  fevering  ray. 
The  long  lines  of  imperial  war 

O'er  Tigris  passed,  and  with  dismay 
In  fanged  and  iron  deserts  found 
Embattled  Persia  closing  round, 


And  'mid  their  eagles  watched  on  high 
The  vultures  gathering  for  a  feast. 

Till,  from  the  quivers  of  the  sky. 
The  gorgeous  star-flight  of  the  East 

Flamed,  and  the  bow  of  darkness  bent 

O'er  Julian  dying  in  his  tent. 
159 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

II 

Was  it  the  wind  befooling  ine 
With  ancient  echoes^  as  I  lay  ? 

W^as  it  the  antic  fantasy 

Whose  elvish  mockeries  cheat  the  day  ? 

Surely  a  hollow  murmur  stole 

From  wizard  bough  and  ghostly  bole  : 

"  Who  prates  to  me  of  arms  and  kings, 
Here  in  these  courts  of  old  repose  ? 

Thy  babble  is  of  transient  things, 
Broils,  and  the  dust  of  foolish  blows. 

Thy  sounding  annals  are  at  best 

The  witness  of  a  world's  unrest. 

"  Goodly  the  ostents  are  to  thee. 

And  pomps  of  Time :  to  me  more  sweet 

The  vigils  of  Eternity, 

And  Silence  patient  at  my  feet ; 

And  dreams  beyond  the  deadening  range 

And  dull  monotonies  of  Change. 
160 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

"  Often  an  air  comes  idling  by 
With  news  of  cities  and  of  men. 

I  hear  a  niultitiidinous  sigh. 
And  lapse  into  my  soul  again. 

Shall  her  great  noons  and  sunsets  be 

Blurred  with  thine  infelicity  ? 


"  Now  from  these  veins  the  strength  of  old, 
The  warmth  and  lust  of  life  depart ; 

Full  of  mortality,  behold 

The  cavern  that  was  once  my  heart ! 

Me,  with  blind  arm,  in  season  due. 

Let  the  aerial  woodman  hew. 


"  For  not  though  mightiest  moi-tals  fall. 
The  starry  chariot  hangs  delayed. 

His  axle  is  uncooled,  nor  shall 

The  thunder  of  His  wheels  be  stayed. 

A  changeless  pace  His  coursers  keep. 

And  halt  not  at  the  wells  of  sleep. 

161  L 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

"  The  South  shall  bless,  the  East  shall  blight, 
The  red  rose  of  the  Dawn  shall  blow ; 

The  million-lilied  stream  of  Night 
Wide  in  ethereal  meadows  flow  ; 

And  Autumn  mourn  ;  and  everything 

Dance  to  the  wild  pipe  of  the  Spring. 


"  With  oceans  heedless  round  her  feet. 
And  the  indifferent  heavens  above. 

Earth  shall  the  ancient  tale  repeat 

Of  wars  and  tears,  and  death  and  love ; 

And,  wise  from  all  the  foolish  Past, 

Shall  peradventure  hail  at  last 


"  The  advent  of  that  morn  divine 
When  nations  may  as  forests  grow. 

Wherein  the  oak  hates  not  the  pine, 
Nor  beeches  wish  the  cedars  woe. 

But  all,  in  their  unlikeness,  blend 

Confederate  to  one  golden  end — 
162 


THE    FATHER    OF    THE    FOREST 

"Beauty:  the  Vision  whereunto^ 

In  joy,  with  pantings,  from  afar, 
Through  sound  and  odour,  form  and  hue, 

And  mind  and  clay,  and  worm  and  star- 
Now  touching  goal,  now  backward  hurled- 
Toils  the  indomitable  world." 


163 


EPIGRAM 


lyrOMENTOUS  to  himself  as  I  to  me 

Hath  each  man  been  that  ever  woman  bore ; 

Once,  in  a  lightning-flash  of  sympathy, 
I  felt  this  truth,  an  instant,  and  no  more. 


164 


LINES   WRITTEN   IN   RICHMOND   PARK 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  RICHMOND  PARK 

T  ADY,  were  you  but  here  ! 

The  Autumn  flames  away^ 

And  pensive  in  the  antlered  shade  I  stray. 

The  Autumn  flames  away^  his  end  is  near. 

I  linger  where  deposed  and  fall'n  he  lies, 

Prankt  in  his  last  poor  tattered  braveries. 

And  think  what  brightness  Avould  enhance  the  Day, 

Lady,  were  you  but  here. 

Though  hushed  the  woodlands,  though  sedate  the 

skies. 
Though  dank  the  leaves  and  sere. 
The  stored  sunlight  in  your  hair  and  eyes 
Would  vernalise 

November,  and  renew  the  aged  year. 
Lady  !  were  you  but  here. 


I6l 


THE    SOVEREIGN    POET 


THE   SOVEREIGN   POET 

L-J  E  sits  above  the  clang  and  dust  of  Time, 
With  the  world's  secret  trembling  on  his  lip. 
He  asks  not  converse  nor  companionship 
In  the  cold  starlight  v^'here  thou  canst  not  climb. 

The  undelivered  tidings  in  his  breast 
Suffer  him  not  to  rest. 
He  sees  afar  the  immemorable  throng, 
And  binds  the  scattered  ages  with  a  song. 

The  glorious  riddle  of  his  rhythmic  breath. 
His  might,  his  spell,  we  know  not  what  they  be  : 
We  only  feel,  whate'er  he  uttereth. 
This  savours  not  of  death. 
This  hath  a  relish  of  eternity. 


166 


THE    RUINED    ABBEY 


THE    RUINED  ABBEY 

J'LOWER  -  FONDLED,    clasp'd    in     ivy's     close 
caress, 

It  seems  allied  with  Nature,  yet  apart : — 
Of  wood's  and  wave's  insensate  loveliness 

The  glad,  sad,  tranquil,  passionate,  human  heart. 


67 


SONNET 


T  THINK  you  never  were  of  earthly  frcame^, 
O  truant  from  some  charmed  world  unknown  ! 
A  fairy  empress,  you  forsook  your  throne, 
Fled  your  inviolate  court,  and  hither  came  ; 
Donned  mortal  vesture  ;  wore  a  woman's  name  ; 
Like  a  mere  woman,  loved ;  and  so  ai-e  grown 
At  last  a  little  human,  save  alone 
For  the  wild  elvish  heart  not  Love  could  tame. 
And  one  day  1  believe  you  will  return 
To  your  far  isle  amid  the  enchanted  sea, — 
There,  in  your  realm,  perhaps  remember  me. 
Perhaps  forget :  but  I  shall  never  learn  ! 
I,  loveless  dust  within  a  dreamless  urn, 
Dead  to  your  beauty's  immortality. 


168 


ODE  TO   ARTHUR  CHRISTOPHER  BENSON 


ODE  TO  ARTHUR  CHRISTOPHER  BENSON 

TN  that  grave  shade  august 

That  round  your  Eton  clings^ 
To  you  the  centuries  must 

Be  visible  corporate  things^ 
And  the  high  Past  appear 
AfFabl}'  real  and  near. 
For  all  its  grandiose  airs,  caught  from  the  mien  of 
Kings. 

The  new  age  stands  as  yet 

Half  built  against  the  sky, 
Open  to  every  threat 

Of  storms  that  clamour  by  : 

Scaffolding  veils  the  walls, 

And  dim  dust  floats  and  falls. 

As,  moving  to  and  fro,  their  tasks  the  masons  ply. 
169 


ODE   TO   ARTHUR   CHRISTOPHER   BENSON 

But  changeless  and  complete. 
Rise  unperturbed  and  vast, 
Above  our  din  and  heat. 

The  turrets  of  the  Past, 
Mute  as  that  city  asleep. 
Lulled  with  enchantments  deep, 
Far  in   Arabian   dreamland  built    where   all   things 
last. 

Who  loves  not  to  explore 

That  palace  of  Old  Time, 
Awed  by  the  spires  that  soar 

In  ghostly  dusk  sublime. 
And  gorgeous-windowed  halls, 
And  leagues  of  pictured  walls. 
And    dungeons    that    remember   many    a    crimson 
crime  ? 

Yet,  in  those  phantom  towers 

Not  thine,  not  mine,  to  dwell, 

Rapt  from  the  living  hours 

By  some  rich  lotus-spell ; 
170 


ODE   TO   ARTHUR   CHRISTOPHER   BENSON 

And  if  our  lute  obey 
A  mode  of  yesterday, 
'Tis  that  we  deem   'twill   prove  to-morrow's  mode 
as  well. 


This  neighbouring  joy  and  woe^ 

This  present  sky  and  sea — 
These  meii  and  things  we  know, 

Whose  touch  we  would  not  flee- 
To  us,  O  friend,  shall  long 
Yield  aliment  of  song  : 
Life  as  I  see  it  lived  is  ereat  enousrh  for  me. 


In  high  relief  against 

That  reverend  silence  set, 
Wherein  your  days  are  fenced 

From  the  world's  peevish  fret. 

There  breaks  on  old  Earth's  ears 

The  thunder  of  new  years, 

Rousing  from  ancient  dreams  the  Muse's  anchoret. 
171 


ODE  TO   ARTHUR   CHRISTOPHER  BENSON 

Well  if  the  coming  time, 

With  loud  and  strident  tongue, 
Hush  not  the  sound  of  rhyme, 

Drown  not  the  song  half  sung, 
Ev'n  as  a  dissonant  age 
Choked  with  polemic  rage 
The  starriest  voice  that  e'er  on  English  ears  hath 
rung, 

And  bade  her  seer  a  while 

Pause  and  put  by  the  bard. 
Till  this  tormented  isle, 

With  feuds  and  factions  jarred. 
Some  leisure  might  regain 
To  hear  the  long-pent  strain 
Re-risen   from    storm   and    fire,   immortal    and   un- 
marred. 


172 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 


HYMN   TO   THE   SEA 


r^  RANT,  O  regal  in  bounty,  a  subtle  and  delicate 

largess ; 

Grant  an  ethereal  alms,  out  of  the  wealth  of  thy 

soul  : 

Suffer  a  tarrying   minstrel,  who   finds,  not   fashions 

his  numbers, — 

Who,  from  the  commune  of  air,  cages  the  volatile 

song,— 

Here   to   capture   and   prison   some  fugitive   breath 

of  thy  descant. 

Thine   and   his   own    as    thy    roar    lisped    on    tlie 

lips  of  a  shell, 

173 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

Now  while  the  vernal   impulsion   makes   lyrical    all 
that  hath  language. 
While,  through  the  veins  of  the  Earth,  riots  the 
ichor  of  Spring, 
While,  with  throes,  with   raptures,  with  loosing  of 
bonds,  with  unsealings, — 
Arrowy  pangs   of  delight,  piercing   the    core    of 
the  world, — 
Tremors    and    coy    unfoldings,    reluctances,    sweet 
agitations, — 
Youth,  irrepressibly  fair,  wakes  like  a  wondering 
rose. 

n 

Lover  whose  vehement  kisses  on  lips  irresponsive 

are  squandered. 

Lover  that  wooest  in  vain  Earth's  imperturbable 

heart ; 

Athlete  mightily  frustrate,   Avho   pittest  thy  thews 

against  legions. 

Locked   with   fantastical   hosts,   bodiless  arms    of 

the  sky ; 

174 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

Sea  that  breakest  foi-  ever,  that  breakest  and  never 
art  broken, 
Like  unto  thine,  from  of  old,  springeth  the  spirit 
of  man, — 
Nature's  wooer  and  fighter,  whose  years  are  a  suit 
and  a  wrestling. 
All  their  hours,  from   his   birth,  hot  with  desire 
and  with  fray  ; 
Amorist   agonist   man,  that,  immortally  pining  and 
striving. 
Snatches   the    glory   of  life   only   from    love   and 
from  war ; 
Man  that,  rejoicing  in  conflict,  like  thee  when  pre- 
cipitate tempest. 
Charge   after  thundering    charge,   clangs  on   thy 
resonant  mail, 
Seemeth   so   easy   to   shatter,  and   proveth   so  hard 
to  be  cloven ; 
Man  whom  the   gods,  in   his   pain,  curse  with   a 
soul  that  endures ; 
Man  whose  deeds,  to  the  doer,  come  back  as  thine 

own  exhalations 

175 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

Into  thy  bosom  return^  weepings  of  mountain  and 

vale; 

Man  with  the  cosmic  fortunes  and  starry  vicissitudes 

tangled, 

Chained   to   the  wheel  of  the  world,  blind  with 

the  dust  of  its  speed, 

Even  as  thou,  O  giant,  whom  trailed  in  the  wake 

of  her  conquests 

Night's  sweet  despot  draws,  bound  to  her  ivory 

car ; 

Man  with   inviolate   caverns,  impregnable   holds   in 

his  nature. 

Depths  no  storm  can  pierce,  pierced  with  a  shaft 

of  the  sun  : 

Man  that  is  galled  with  his  confines,  and  burdened 

yet  more  with  his  vastness. 

Born  too  great  for  his  ends,  never  at  peace  with 

his  goal ; 

Man  whom  Fate,  his  victor,  magnanimous,  clement 

in  triumph. 

Holds   as    a    captive    king,    mewed    in    a    palace 

divine : 

176 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

Wide  its  leagues  of  pleasance,  and  ample  of  purview 
its  windows  ; 
Airily   falls,   in   its   courts,   laughter   of  fountains 
at  play  ; 
Nought,   when   the   harpers    are   harjnng,   untimely 
reminds  him  of  durance  ; 
None,  as  he  sits  at  the  feast,  whisper  Captivity's 
name ; 
But,   would   he   parley   with   Silence,   withdraw   for 
awhile  unattended. 
Forth  to  the  beckoning  world  'scape  for  an  hour 
and  be  free, 
Lo,    his    adventurous    fancy    coercing    at    once    and 
provoking, 
Rise   the   unscalable  walls,  built   with   a  word  at 
the  prime ; 
Lo,    immobile    as    statues,    with    pitiless    faces    of 
iron. 
Armed   at    each    obstinate    gate,    stand    the    im- 
passable guards. 


177 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 


HI 

Miser  whose  coffered  recesses  the  spoils  of  eternity 

cumber, 

Spendthrift    foaming    thy    soul    wildly    in    fury 

away,— 

We,  self-amorous    mortals,    our   own    multitudinous 

image 

Seeking  in  all  we  behold,  seek  it  and  find  it  in 

thee : 

Seek  it  and  find  it  when  o'er  us  the  exquisite  fabric 

of  Silence 

Perilous-turreted    hangs,    trembles    and    dulcetly 

falls ; 

When  the  aerial  armies  engage  amid  orgies  of  music. 

Braying  of  arrogant  brass,  whimper  of  querulous 

reeds ; 

When,  at  his  banquet,  the   Summer  is   purple  and 

drowsed  with  repletion  ; 

When,   to    his    anchorite    board,   taciturn    Winter 

repairs  ; 

178 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

When    by    the    tempest    are    scattered    magnificent 

ashes  of  Autumn  ; 
When^  upon    orchard    and  lane^    breaks    the    white 

foam  of  the  Spring  ; 
When,  in  extravagant  revel,  the  Dawn,  a  bacchante 

upleaping, 
Spills,  on  the   tresses   of  Night,   vintages  golden 

and  red ; 
When,  as  a  token  at   parting,   munificent  Day,  for 

remembrance, 
Gives,  unto  men  that  forget,  Ophirs  of  fabulous 

ore  ; 
When,    invincibly    rushing,    in    luminous    palpitant 

deluge. 
Hot  from  the  summits  of  Life,  poured  is  the  lava 

of  noon  ; 
When,  as  yonder,  thy    mistress,   at   height   of   her 

mutable  glories, 
Wise  from  the  magical  East,  comes  like  a  sorceress 

pale. 

Ah,  she  comes,  she  arises, — impassive,  emotionless, 

bloodless, 

179 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

Wasted  and  ashen  of  cheek,  zoning  her  ruins  with 
pearl. 
Once  she  was  warm,  she  was  joyous,  desire  in  her 
pulses  abounding  : 
Surely  thou  lovedst  her  well,  then,   in  her  con- 
quering youth  ! 
Surely  not  all  unimpassioned,  at  sound  of  thy  rough 
serenading, 
She,  from  the  balconied  night,  unto  her  melodist 
leaned, — 
Leaned    unto    thee,    her    bondsman,    who    keepest 
to-day  her  commandments, 
All  for  the  sake  of  old  love,  dead  at   thy  heart 
though  it  lie. 


IV 


Yea,  it  is  we,  light  perverts,  that  waver,  and  shift 

our  allegiance  ; 

We,  whom  insurgence  of  blood  dooms  to  be  barren 

and  waste  ; 

180 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

We,  unto   Nature  imputing  our  frailties,  our  fever 

and  tumult  ; 

We,  that  with  dust  of  our  strife  sully  the  hue  of 

her  peace. 

Thou,  with  punctual  service,  fulfillest  thy  task,  being 

constant ; 

Thine  but  to  ponder  the  Law,  labour  and  greatly 

obey  : 

Wherefore,   with  leapings    of  spirit,   thou    chantest 

the  chant  of  the  faithful, 

Chantest  aloud  at  thy  toil,  cleansing  the  Earth  of 

her  stain  ; 

Leagued   in   antiphonal  chorus   with   stars  and   the 

populous  Systems, 

Following  these  as  their  feet  dance  to  the  rhyme 

of  the  Suns ; 

Thou  thyself  but  a  billow,aripple,adropofthatOcean, 

Which,  labyrinthine  of  arm,  folding   us    meshed 

in  its  coil. 

Shall,  as  now,  with  elations,  august  exultations  and 

ardours. 

Pour,  in  unfaltering  tide,  all  its  unanimous  waves, 
181 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA 

When,  from  this  threshold  of  being,  these  steps  of 
the  Presence,  this  precinct, 
Into  the  matrix  of  Life  darkly  divinely  resumed, 
Man  and  his  littleness  perish,  erased  like  an  error 
and  cancelled, 
Man  and  his  greatness  survive,  lost  in  the  great- 
ness of  God. 


182 


EPIGRAM 


TN  mid  whirl  of  the  dance  of  Time  ye  start, 
Start  at  the  cold  touch  of  Eternity, 

And  cast  your  cloaks  about  you,  and  depart. — 
The  minstrels  pause  not  in  their  minstrelsy. 


183 


FRANCE 


FRANCE 

25th  June   18.04* 

T  IGHT-HEARTED  heroine  of  tragic  story  ! 
Nation  whom  storm  on  storm  of  ruining  fate 
Unruined  leaves, — nay,  fairer,  more  elate, 
Hungrier  for  action,  more  athirst  for  glory  ! 
World-witching  queen,  from  fiery  floods  and  gory 
Rising  eternally  regenerate, 
Clothed  with  great  deeds  and  crowned  with  dreams 

more  gi-eat 
Spacious  as  Fancy's  boundless  territory  ! 

Little  thou  lov'st  our  island,  and  perchance 
Thou  heed'st  as  little  her  reluctant  praise  ; 
Yet  let  her,  in  these  dark  and  bodeful  days. 
Sinking  old  hatreds  'neath  the  sundering  brine. 
Immortal  and  indomitable  France, 
Marry  her  tears,  her  alien  tears,  to  thine. 
*  The  day  after  the  murder  of  Carnot. 

184 


A    RIDDLE    OF    THE    THAMES 


A    RIDDLE   OF   THE   THAMES 

AT  windows  that  from  Westminster 
Look  southward  to  the  Lollard's  Tower, 
She  sat,  my  lovely  friend.     A  blur 

Of  gilded  mist, — ('twas  morn's  first  hour,)- 
Made  vague  the  world  :  and  in  the  gleam 
Shivered  the  half-awakened  stream. 


Through  tinted  vapour  looming  large, 
Ambiguous  shapes  obscurely  rode. 

She  gazed  where  many  a  laden  barge 
Like  some  dim-moving  saurian  showed. 

And  'midst  them,  lo  !  two  swans  appeared. 

And  proudly  up  the'  river  steered. 
185 


A    RIDDLE    OF    THE    THAMES 

Two  stately  swans  !     What  did  they  there  ? 

Whence  came  they  ?    Whither  would  they  go  ? 
Think  of  them, — things  so  faultless  fair, — 

'Mid  the  black  shipping  down  below  ! 
On  through  the  rose  and  gold  they  passed, 
And  melted  in  the  morn  at  last. 

Ah,  can  it  be,  that  they  had  come. 
Where  Thames  in  sullied  glory  flows. 

Fugitive  rebels,  tired  of  some 
Secluded  lake's  ornate  repose, 

Eager  to  taste  the  life  that  pours 

Its  muddier  wave  'twixt  mightier  shores  ? 

We  ne'er  shall  know  :  our  wonderment 

No  barren  certitude  shall  mar. 
They  left  behind  them,  as  they  went, 

A  dream  than  knowledge  ampler  far  ; 
And  from  our  world  they  sailed  away 
Into  some  visionary  day. 


186 


THE   YEAR'S    MINSTRELSY 


THE   YEAR'S    MINSTRELSY 

CPRING,  the  low  prelude  of  a  lordlier  song  : 
Summer^  a  music  without  hint  of  death  : 

Autumn,  a  cadence  lingeringly  long : 

Winter,  a  pause  ; — the  Minstrel- Year  takes  breath. 


187 


A    STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 


A   STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 


T)  Y  cliff  and  cliine^  and  hollow-nestling  wood 

Thrilled  with  the  poignant  savour  of  the  sea, 

All  in  the  crisp  light  of  a  wintry  morn, 

We  walked,  my  friend  and  I,  preceded  still 

By  one  whose  silken  and  voluminous  suit, 

His  courtly  ruff,  snow-pure  'mid  golden  tan. 

His  grandly  feathered  legs  slenderly  strong, 

The  broad  and  flowing  billow  of  his  breast, 

His  delicate  ears  and  superfine  long  nose, 

With  that  last  triumph,  his  distinguished  tail, 

In  their  collective  glory  spoke  his  race 

The  flower  of  Collie  aristocracy. 

Yet,  from  his  traits,  how  absent  that  reserve, 
188 


A    STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 

That  stillness  on  a  base  of  power,  which  marks. 

In  men  and  mastiffs,  the  seleetly  sprung  ! 

For  after  all,  his  high-life  attributes, 

His  trick  of  doing  nothing  with  an  air. 

His  .salon  manners  and  society  smile, 

Were  but  skin-deep,  factitious,  and  you  saw 

The  bustling  despot  of  the  mountain  flock. 

And  pastoral  dog-of-all-work,  underlie 

The  fashionable  modern  lady's  pet, — 

Industrial  impulses  bereft  of  scope, 

Duty  and  discipline  denied  an  aim, 

Ancesti'al  energy  and  strenuousness 

In  graceful  trifling  frittered  all  away. 

Witness  the  depth  of  his  concern  and  zeal 

About  minutest  issues  :  shall  we  take 

This  path  or  that  ? — it  matters  not  a  straw — 

But  just  a  moment  unresolved  we  stand. 

And  all  his  personality,  from  ears 

To  tip  of  tail,  is  interrogative  ; 

And  when  from  pure  indifference  we  decide, 

How  he  vociferates  !  how  he  bounds  ahead  ! 

With  what  enthusiasm  he  ratifies, 
189 


A    STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 

Applauds,  acclaims  our  choice  'twixt  right  and  left, 
As  though  some  hoary  problem  over  which 
The  world  had  puckered  immemorial  brows. 
Were  solved  at  last,  and  all  life  launched  anew  ! 

These  and  a  thousand  tricks  and  ways  and  traits 

I  noted  as  of  Demos  at  their  root. 

And  foreign  to  the  staid,  conservative, 

Came-over-with-the-Conqueror  type  of  mind. 

And  then,  his  nature,  how  impressionable. 

How  quickly  moved  to  Collie  mirth  or  woe. 

Elated  or  dejected  at  a  word  ! 

And  how  unlike  your  genuine  Vere  de  Vere's 

Frigid,  indifferent,  half-ignoring  glance 

At  everything  outside  the  sacred  pale 

Of    thinffs    De    Veres    have    sanctioned    from    the 

o 

Flood, 
The  unweariable  curiosity 
And  universal  open-mindedness 
Of  that  all-testing,  all-inquisitive  nose  ! 


190 


A    STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 


II 

Soj  to  my  friend's  house^  back  we  strolled  ;  and 

there — 

We  loitering  in  the  garden — from  her  post 

Of  purview  at  a  window^  languidly 

A  great  Angora  watched  his  CoUieship, 

And  throned  in  monumental  calm,  surveyed 

His  effervescence,  volatility, 

Clamour  on  slight  occasion,  fussiness, 

Herself  immobile,  imperturbable. 

Like  one  whose  vision  seeks  the  Immanent 

Behind  these  symbols  and  appearances, 

The  face  within  this  transitory  mask. 

And  as  her  eyes  with  indolent  regard 

Viewed  his  upbubblings  of  ebullient  life. 

She  seemed  the  Orient  Spirit  incarnate,  lost 

In  contemplation  of  the  Western  Soul  I 

Ev'n  so,  methought,  the  genius  of  the  East, 

Reposeful,  patient,  undemonstrative. 

Luxurious,  enigmatically  sage, 
191' 


A    STUDY    IN    CONTRASTS 

Dispassionately  cruel,  might  look  clown 

On  all  the  fever  of  the  Occident; — 

The  brooding  mother  of  the  unfilial  world, 

Recumbent  on  her  own  antiquity, 

Aloof  from  our  mutations  and  unrest, 

Alien  to  our  achievements  and  desires. 

Too  proud  alike  for  protest  or  assent 

When  new  thoughts  thunder  at  her  massy  door  ;- 

Another  brain  dreaming  another  dream, 

Another  heart  recalling  other  loves. 

Too  grey  and  grave  for  our  adventui'ous  hopes, 

For  our  precipitate  pleasures  too  august. 

And  in  majestic  taciturnity 

Refraining  her  illimitable  scorn. 


192 


TO    RICHARD    HOLT    HUTTON 


TO    RICHARD    HOLT    HUTTON 

\7"ESj  I  have  had  my  griefs ;  and  yet 
I  think  that  when  I  shake  off  Hfe's  annoy, 
I  shallj  in  my  last  hour,  forget 
All  things  that  were  not  joy. 

Have  I  not  watched  the  starry  throngs 
Dance,  and  the  soul  of  April  break  in  bud  ? 
Have  I  not  taken  Schubert's  songs 
Into  my  brain  and  blood  ? 


I  have  seen  the  morn  one  laugh  of  gold  ; 

I  have  known  a  mind  that  was  a  match  for  Fate ; 

I  have  wondered  what  the  heavens  can  hold 

Than  simplest  love  more  great. 

193         '  N 


TO    RICHARD    HOLT    HUTTON 

And  not  uncrowned  with  honours  ran 
My  days,  and  not  without  a  boast  shall  end  ! 
For  I  was  Shakespeare's  countryman ; 
And  wert  thou  not  my  friend  ? 


194 


EPIGRAM 


nPHE  beasts  in  field  are  glad;,  and  have  not  wit 
To  know  why  leapt  their  hearts  when  springtime 
shone. 

Man  looks  at  his  own  bliss,  considers  it. 

Weighs  it  with  curious  fingers  ;  and  'tis  gone. 


195 


DOMTNE,    QUO    VADIS? 


DOMINE,   QUO   VADIS? 
A    Legend    of    the    Early    Church 

T^ARKENING  the  azure  roof  of  Nero's  world, 
From  smouldering  Rome  the  smoke  of  ruin  curled  ; 
And  the  fierce  populace  went  clamouring — 
"These  Christian  dogs,  'tis  they  have  done  this  thing!" 
So  to  the  wild  wolf  Hate  were  sacrificed 
The  panting,  huddled  flock  Avhose  crime  was  Christ. 

Now  Peter  lodged  in  Rome,  and  rose  each  morn 

Looking  to  be  ere  night  in  sunder  torn 

By  those  blind  hands  that  with  inebriate  zeal 

Burned   the   strong   Saints,   or   broke   them    on    the 

wheel, 

Or  flung  them  to  the  lions  to  make  mirth 

For  dames  that  ruled  the  lords  that  ruled  the  earth. 
196 


DOMINE,    QUO    VADIS? 

And  unto  hinij  their  towering  rocky  hold. 
Repaired  those  sheep  of  the  Good  Shepherd's  fold 
In  whose  white  fleece  as  yet  no  blood  or  foam 
Bare  witness  to  the  ravening  fangs  of  Rome. 
"  More  light,  more  cheap/'  they  cried,  "  we  hold  our 

lives 
Than  chaff  the  flail  or  dust  the  whirlwind  drives  : 
As  chaff  they  are  winnowed  and  as  dust  are  blown ; 
Nay,  they  are  nought ;  but  priceless  is  thine  own. 
Not  in  yon  streaming  shambles  must  thou  die  ; 
We  counsel,  we  entreat,  we  charge  thee,  fly  ! " 
And  Peter  answered  :  "  Nay,  my  place  is  here  ; 
Through  the  dread  storm,  this  ship  of  Christ  I  steer. 
Blind  is  the  tempest,  deaf  the  roaring  tide. 
And  I,  His  pilot,  at  the  helm  abide." 

Then  one  stood  forth,  the  flashing  of  whose  soul 

Enrayed  his  presence  like  an  aureole. 

Eager  he  spake  ;  his  fellows,  ere  they  heard. 

Caught  from  his  eyes  the  swift  and  leaping  word. 

"  Let  us,  His  vines,  be  in  the  wine-press  trod. 

And  poured  a  beverage  for  the  lips  of  God ; 
197 


DOMINE,    QUO    VADIS? 

Or^  ground  as  wheat  of  His  eternal  field, 

Bread  for  His  table  let  our  bodies  yield. 

Behold,  the  Church  hath  other  use  for  thee 

Thy  safety  is  her  own,  and  thou  must  flee. 

Ours  be  the  glory  at  her  call  to  die, 

But  quick  and  whole  God  needs  His  great  ally." 

And  Peter  said  :  "  Do  lords  of  sjoear  and  shield 

Thus  leave  their  hosts  uncaptained  on  the  field. 

And  from  some  mount  of  prospect  watch  afar 

The  havoc  of  the  hurricane  of  war  ? 

Yet,  if  He  wills  it.   .   .   .   Nay,  my  task  is  plain, — 

To  serve,  and  to  endure,  and  to  remain. 

But  weak  I  stand,  and  I  beseech  you  all 

LJi'ge  me  no  more,  lest  at  a  touch  I  fall." 


There  knelt  a  noble  youth  at  Peter's  feet. 

And  like  a  viol's  strings  his  voice  was  sweet. 

A  suppliant  angel  might  have  pleaded  so. 

Crowned  with  the  splendour  of  some  starry  woe. 

He  said  :  "  My  sire  and  brethren  yesterday 

The  heathen  did  with  ghastly  torments  slay. 
198 


DOMINE,    QUO    VADIS? 

I'ain,  like  a  worm,  beneath  their  feet  they  trod. 
Their  souls  went  up  like  incense  unto  God. 
An  offering  richer  yet,  can  Heaven  require  ? 

0  live,  and  be  my  brethren  and  my  sire." 

And  Peter  answered  :  "  Son,  there  is  small  need 
That  thou  exhort  me  to  the  easier  deed. 
Rather  I  would  that  thou  and  these  had  lent 
Strength  to  uphold,  not  shatter,  my  intent. 
Already  my  resolve  is  shaken  sore. 

1  pray  thee,  if  thou  love  me,  say  no  more." 


And  even  as  he  spake,  he  went  apart, 

Somewhat  to  hide  the  brimming  of  his  heart. 

Wherein  a  voice  came  flitting  to  and  fro. 

That  now  said  "  Tarry  ! "  and  anon  said  "  Go  !  " 

And  louder  every  moment,  "  Go  !  "  it  cried. 

And  "  Tarry  ! "  to  a  whisper  sank,  and  died. 

And  as  a  leaf  when  summer  is  o'erpast 

Hangs  trembling  ere  it  fall  in  some  chance  blast, 

So  hung  his  trembling  purpose  and  fell  dead ; 

And  he  arose,  and  hurried  forth,  and  fled, 
199 


DOMINE,    QUO    VADIS? 

Darkness  conniving,  through  the  Capuan  Gate, 
From  all  that  heaven  of  love,  that  hell  of  hate, 
To  the  Campania  glimmering  m  ide  and  still, 
And  strove  to  think  he  did  his  Master's  will. 

But  spectral  eyes  and  mocking  tongues  pursued, 

And    vi'ith    vague    hands    he    fought   a   phantom 

brood. 

Doubts,  like  a  swarm  of  gnats,  o'erhung  his  flight, 

And  "  Lord,"  he  prayed,  "have  I  not  done  aright  .'' 

Can  I  not,  living,  more  avail  for  Thee 

Than  whelmed  in  yon  red  storm  of  agony  t 

The  tempest,  it  shall  pass,  and  I  remain. 

Not  from  its  fiery  sickle  saved  in  vain. 

Are  there  no  seeds  to  sow,  no  desert  lands 

Waiting  the  tillage  of  these  eager  hands, 

That  I  should  beastlike  'neath  the  butcher  fall. 

More  fruitlessly  than  oxen  from  the  stall  } 

Is  earth  so  easeful,  is  men's  hate  so  sweet, 

Are  thorns  so  welcome  unto  sleepless  feet. 

Have  death  and  heaven  so  feeble  lures,  that  I, 

Choosing  to  live,  should  win  rebuke  thereby .'' 
200 


DOMINE,    QUO    VADIS? 

Not  mine  the  dread  of  pain,  the  hjst  of  bliss  ! 
Master  who  judgest,  have  I  done  amiss?" 

Lo,  on  the  darkness  brake  a  wandering  ray  : 
A  vision  flashed  along  the  Appian  Way. 
Divinely  in  the  pagan  night  it  shone — 
A  mournful  Face — a  Figure  hurrying  on — 
Though  haggard  and  dishevelled^  frail  and  worn^ 
A  King^  of  David's  lineage^  crowned  with  thorn. 
"Lordj  whither  farest?"  Peter,  wondering,  cried. 
"To  Rome,"  said  Christ,  "  to  be  re-crucified." 

Into  the  night  the  vision  ebbed  like  breath  ; 
And    Peter    turned,    and    rushed    on    Rome    and 
death. 


201 


TO    AUBREY    DE    VERE 


TO    AUBREY    DE   VERE 

"pOET,  whose  grave  and  strenuous  lyre  is  still 
For  Truth  and  Duty  strung;  whose  art  eschews 
The  lighter  graces  of  the  softer  Muse, 
Disdainful  of  mere  craftsman's  idle  skill  : 
Yours  is  a  soul  from  visionary  hill 
Watching  and  hearkening  for  ethereal  news^ 
Looking  beyond  life's  storms  and  death's  cold  dews 
To  habitations  of  the  eternal  will. 

Not  mine  your  mystic  creed  ;  not  mine,  in  prayer 
And  worship,  at  the  ensanguined  Cross  to  kneel  ; 
But  when  I  mark  your  faith  how  pure  and  fair. 
How  based  on  love,  on  passion  for  man's  weal, 
My  mind,  half  envying  what  it  cannot  share, 
Reveres  the  reverence  which  it  cannot  feel. 


202 


CHRISTMAS    DAY 


CHRISTMAS    DAY 

nPHE  morn  broke  bright :  the  thronging  people  wore 

Their  best ;  but  in  the  general  face  I  saw 

No  touch  of  veneration  or  of  awe. 

Christ's  natal  day  ?     'Twas  merely  one  day  more 

On  which  the  mart  agreed  to  close  its  door  ; 

A  lounging-time  by  usage  and  by  law 

Sanctioned  ;  nor  recked  they,  be}ond  this,  one  straw 

Of  any  meaning  which  for  man  it  bore  ! 

Fated  among  time's  fallen  leaves  to  stray, 
We  breathe  an  air  that  savours  of  the  tomb, 
Heavy  with  dissolution  and  decay ; 
Waiting  till  some  new  world-emotion  rise. 
And  with  the  shattering  might  of  the  simoom 
Sweep  clean  this  dying  Past  that  never  dies. 


20£ 


TO    A    LADY 


TO    A   LADY    RECOVERED   FROM   A 
DANGEROUS   SICKNESS 


T  IFE  plucks  thee  back  as  by  the  golden  hair — 
Life,  who  had  feigned  to  let  thee  go  but  now. 
Wealthy  is  Death  already,  and  can  spare 
Ev'n  such  a  prey  as  thou. 


204 


A    NEW    NATIONAL    ANTHEM 


A   NEW   NATIONAL   ANTHEM 

f^OD  save  ouv  ancient  land, 
God  bless  our  noble  land, 

God  save  this  land  ! 
Yea,  from  wai''s  pangs  and  fears. 
Plague's  tooth  and  famine's  tears, 
Ev'n  unto  latest  years 

God  save  this  land  ! 

God  bless  our  reigning  i*aoe  ! 

Truth,  honour,  wisdom,  grace, 

Guide  their  right  hand  ! 

Yet,  though  we  love  their  sway, 

England  is  more  than  they : 

God  bless  their  realm,  we  pray, 

God  save  our  land  ! 
205 


A    NEW    NATIONAL    ANTHEM 

Too  long  the  gulf  betwixt 
This  man  and  that  man  fixt 

Yawns  yet  unspanned. 
Too  long,  that  some  may  rest. 
Tired  millions  toil  unblest. 
God  lift  our  lowliest, 

God  save  this  land  ! 

God  save  our  ancient  land, 
God  bless  our  noble  land, 

God  save  our  land  ! 
Earth's  empires  wax  and  wane, 
Man's  might  is  mown  as  grain  : 
God's  arm  our  arm  sustain  ! 

God  save  our  land  ! 


206 


EPIGRAM 


T^O  Art  we  go  as  to  a  well^  athirst, 

And  see  our  shadow  'gainst  its  mimic  skies. 

But  in  its  depth  must  phmge  and  be  immersed 
To  clasp  the  naiad  Truth  where  low  she  lies. 


207 


SONNET 


SONNET 

T  THINK  the  immortal  servants  of  mankind, 
Whoj  from  their  graves,  watch  by  how  slow  degrees 
The  World-Soul  greatens  with  the  centuries, 
Mourn  most  Man's  barren  levity  of  mind. 
The  ear  to  no  grave  harmonies  inclined. 
The  witless  thirst  for  false  wit's  worthless  lees^ 
The  laugh  mistimed  in  tragic  presences. 
The  eye  to  all  majestic  meanings  blind. 

O  prophets,  martyrs,  savioui's,  ye  were  great. 

All  truth  being  great  to  you  :  ye  deemed  Man  more 

Than  a  didl  jest,  God's  ennui  to  amuse  : 

The  world,  for  you,  held  purport :  Life  ye  wore 

Proudly,  as  Kings  their  solemn  robes  of  state ; 

And  humbly,  as  the  mightiest  monarchs  use. 


208 


"I    DO    NOT    ASK" 


T  DO  not  ask  to  have  my  fill 
Of  wine,  or  love,  or  fame. 

I  do  not,  for  a  little  ill. 
Against  the  gods  exclaim. 

One  boon  of  Fortune  I  implore. 
With  one  petition  kneel : 

At  least  caress  vie  not,  before 
Thou  break  me  on  thy  ivheel. 


209 


ODE    IN    MAY 


ODE    IN    MAY 

T  ET  me  go  forth,  and  share 
The  overflowing  Sun 
With  one  wise  friend,  or  one 
Better  than  wise,  being  fair. 
Where  the  pewit  wheels  and  dips 
On  heights  of  bracken  and  hng. 
And  Earth,  unto  her  leaflet  tips, 
Tingles  with  the  S])ring. 


What  is  so  sweet  and  dear 

As  a  prosperous  morn  in  May, 

The  confident  prime  of  the  day, 

And  the  dauntless  youth  of  the  year, 
210 


ODE    IN    MAY 

When  nothing  that  asks  for  bhss. 
Asking  arightj  is  denietl. 
And  half  of  the  world  a  bridegroom  is. 
And  half  of  the  world  a  bride  ? 

The  Song  of  Mingling  flows, 

Grave,  ceremonial,  pure, 

As  once,  from  lips  that  endure. 

The  cosmic  descant  rose, 

When  the  temporal  lord  of  life. 

Going  his  golden  way, 

Had  taken  a  wondrous  maid  to  wife 

That  long  had  said  him  nay. 

For  of  old  the  Sun,  our  sire. 

Came  wooing  the  mother  of  men. 

Earth,  that  was  virginal  then. 

Vestal  fii-e  to  his  fire. 

Silent  her  bosom  and  coy, 

But  the  strong  god  sued  and  pressed  ; 

And  born  of  their  starry  nuptial  joy 

Are  all  that  drink  of  her  breast. 
211 


ODE    IN    MAY 

And  the  triumph  of  him  that  begot^ 
And  the  travail  of  her  that  bore, 
Behold,  they  are  evermore 
As  warp  and  weft  in  our  lot. 
We  are  children  of  splendour  and  fame, 
Of  shuddering,  also,  and  teai-s. 
Magnificent  out  of  the  dust  we  came. 
And  abject  from  the  Spheres. 

O  bright  irresistible  lord. 

We  are  fruit  of  Earth's  womb,  each  one, 

And  fruit  of  thy  loins,  O  Sun, 

Whence  first  was  the  seed  outpoured. 

To  thee  as  our  Father  we  bow. 

Forbidden  thy  Father  to  see, 

Who  is  older  and  greater  than  thou,  as  thou 

Art  greater  and  older  than  we. 

Thou  art  but  as  a  word  of  his  speech. 
Thou  art  but  as  a  wave  of  his  hand  ; 
Thou  art  brief  as  a  glitter  of  sand 

'Twixt  tide  and  tide  on  his  beach ; 

212 


ODE    IN    MAY 

Thou  art  less  than  a  spark  of  his  fire, 

Or  a  moment's  mood  of  his  soul  : 

Thou  art  lost  in  the  notes  on  the  lips 

of  his  choir 
That  chant  the  chant  of  the  Whole. 


213 


SONG 


SONG 

/^H,  like  a  queen's  her  happy  tread. 
And  like  a  queen's  her  golden  head  ! 
But  oh,  at  last,  when  all  is  said. 
Her  woman's  heart  for  ine  ! 

We  wandered  Avhere  the  river  gleamed 
'Neath  oaks  that  mused  and  pines  that  dreamed. 
A  wild  thing  of  the  woods  she  seemed, 
So  proud,  and  pure,  and  free ! 

All  heaven  drew  nigh  to  hear  her  sing. 

When  from  her  lips  her  soul  took  wing ; 

The  oaks  forgot  their  pondering, 

The  pines  their  reverie. 
214 


SONG 


And  oh,  her  happy  queenly  tread, 
And  oh,  her  queenly  golden  head  ! 
But  oh,  her  heart,  when  all  is  said. 
Her  woman's  heart  for  me  ! 


215 


THE    WORLD    IN    ARMOUR 


THE   WORLD    IN    ARMOUR 

I 

TTNDER  this  shade  of  crimson  wings  abhorred 
That  never  wholly  leaves  the  sky  serene, — 
While  Vengeance  sleeps  a  sleep  so  light,  between 
Dominions  that  acclaim  Thee  overlord, — 
Sadly  the  blast  of  Thy  tremendous  word, 
Whate'er  its  mystic  purport  may  have  been, 
Echoes  across  the  ages,  Nazarene  : 
Not  to  bring  peace  Mine  errand,  hut  a  sword. 

For  lo.  Thy  world  uprises  and  lies  down 

In  armour,  and  its  Peace  is  War,  in  all 

Save   the   great  death  that  weaves  War's   dreadful 

crown ; 

War  unennobled  by  heroic  pain, 

War  where  none  triumph,  none  sublimely  fall. 

War  that  sits  smiling,  with  the  eyes  of  Cain. 
216 


THE    WORLD    IN    ARMOUR 


II 

When  London's  Plague,  that  day  by  day  enrolled 

His  thousands  dead,  nor  deigned  his  rage  to  abate 

Till  grass  was  green  in  silent  Bishopsgate, 

Had  come  and  passed  like  thunder, — still,  'tis  told. 

The  monster,  driven  to  earth,  in  hovels  old 

And  haunts  obscure,  though  dormant,  lingered  late. 

Till  the  dread  Fire,  one  roaring  wave  of  fate. 

Rose,  and  swept  clean  his  last  retreat  and  hold. 

In  Em-ope  live  the  di-egs  of  Plague  to-day. 
Dregs  of  full  many  an  ancient  Plague  and  dire, 
Old  wrongs,  old  lies  of  ages  blind  and  cruel. 
What  if  alone  the  world-war's  world-wide  fire 
Can  purge  the  ambushed  pestilence  away  ? 
Yet  woe  to  him  that  idly  lights  the  fuel ! 


sr 


THE    WORLD    IN    ARMOUR 


III 

A  moment's  fantasy,  the  vision  came 
Of  Europe  dipped  in  fiery  death,  and  so 
Mounting  re-born,  with  vestal  limbs  aglow. 
Splendid  and  fragrant  from  her  bath  of  flame. 
It  fleeted  ;  and  a  phantom  without  name, 
Sightless,  dismembered,  terrible,  said  :  "  Lo, 
/  am  that  ravished  Europe  men  shall  know 
After  the  morn  of  blood  and  night  of  shame." 

The  spectre  passed,  and  I  beheld  alone 
The  Europe  of  the  present,  as  she  stands, 
Powerless  from  terror  of  her  own  vast  power, 
Neath  novel  stars,  beside  a  brink  unknown  ; 
And  round  her  the  sad  Kings,  with  sleepless  hands. 
Piling  the  fagots,  hour  by  doomful  hour. 


218 


TO    A    FRIEND 


TO    A    FRIEND 

Uniting    Antiquarian    Tastes     with 
Progressive  Politics 

nPRUE  lover  of  the  Past,  who  dost  not  scorn 
To  give  good  heed  to  what  the  Future  saith, — 
Drinking  the  air  of  two  worlds  at  a  breath, 
Thou  livest  not  alone  in  thoughts  outworn. 
But  ever  helpest  the  new  time  be  born, 
Though  with  a  sigh  for  the  old  order's  death  ; 
As  clouds  that  crown  the  night  that  perisheth 
Aid  in  the  high  solemnities  of  morn. 

Guests  of  the  ages,  at  To-morrow's  door 

Why  shrink  we  ?     The  long  track  behind  us  lies. 

The  lamps  gleam  and  the  music  throbs  before. 

Bidding  us  enter :  and  I  count  him  wise, 

Who  loves  so  well  Man's  noble  memories 

He  needs  must  love  Man's  nobler  hopes  yet  more. 

219 


AN    EPITAPH 


AN    EPITAPH 

TTIS  friends  he  loved.     His  fellest  earthly  foes — 
Cats — I  believe  he  did  but  feign  to  hate. 

My  hand  will  miss  the  insinuated  nose, 

Mine    eyes    the    tail    that    wagg'd    contempt    at 
Fate. 


220 


PEACE    AND    WAR 


PEACE  AND   WAR 

nPHE  sleek  sea^  gorged  and  sated,  basking  lies ; 
The  cruel  creature  fawns  and  blinks  and  purrs  ; 
And  almost  we  forget  what  fangs  are  hers, 
And  trust  for  once  her  emerald-golden  eyes  ; 
Though  haply  on  the  morrow  she  shall  rise 
And  summon  her  infernal  nninistersj 
And  charge  her  everlasting  barriers, 
With  wild  white  fingers  snatching  at  the  skies. 

So,  betwixt  Peace  and  War,  man's  life  is  cast ; 
Yet  hath  he  dreamed  of  perfect  Peace  at  last 
Shepherding  all  the  nations  ev'n  as  sheep. 
The  inconstant,  moody  ocean  shall  as  soon, 
At  the  cold  dictates  of  the  bloodless  moon, 
Swear  an  eternity  of  halcyon  sleep. 


221 


TO 


TO 


XpORGET  not^  brother  singer  !  that  though  Prose 
Can  never  be  too  truthful  or  too  wise, 

Song  is  not  Truth,  not  Wisdom,  but  the  rose 
Upon  Truth's  lips,  the  light  in  Wisdom's  eyes. 


222 


IMITATION    OF    THE    ELIZABETHANS 


SONG    IN    IMITATION    OF   THE 
ELIZABETHANS 

OWEETEST  sweets  that  time  hath  rifled, 

Live  anew  on  lyric  tongue — 
Tresses  with  which  Paris  trifled, 

Lips  to  Antony's  that  clung. 
These  surrender  not  their  rose. 
Nor  their  golden  puissance  those. 


Vain  the  envious  loam  that  covers 
Her  of  Egypt,  her  of  Troy  : 

Helen's,  Cleopatra's  lovers 
Still  desire  them,  still  enjoy. 

Fate  but  stole  what  Song  restored 

V^ain  the  aspic,  vain  the  cord. 
223 


IMITATION    OF    THE    ELIZABETHANS 

Idly  clanged  the  sullen  portal. 

Idly  the  sepulchral  door  : 
Fame  the  mighty,  Love  the  immortal. 

These  than  foolish  dust  are  more  : 
Nor  may  captive  Death  refuse 
Homage  to  the  conquering  Muse. 


224 


EPIGRAM 


T^OR  metaphors  of  man  we  search  the  skies, 
And  find  our  allegory  in  all  the  air. 

We  gaze  on  Nature  with  Narcissus-eyes, 
Enamour'd  of  our  shadow  everywhere. 


225 


THE    FRONTIER 


THE   FRONTIER 

AT  the  hushed  brink  of  twilight, — when,  as  though 
Some  solemn  journeying  phantom  paused  to  lay 
An  ominous  finger  on  the  awestruck  day, 
Earth  holds  her  breath  till  that  great  presence  go, — 
A  moment  comes  of  visionary  glow, 
Pendulous  'twixt  the  gold  hour  and  the  grey, 
Lovelier  than  these,  more  eloquent  than  they 
Of  memory,  foresight,  and  life's  ebb  and  flow. 

So  have  I  known,  in  some  fair  woman's  face. 

While  viewless  yet  was  Time's  more  gross  imprint. 

The  first,  faint,  hesitant,  elusive  hint 

Of  that  invasion  of  the  vandal  years 

Seem  deeper  beauty  than  youth's  cloudless  grace. 

Wake  subtler  dreams,  and  touch  me  nigh  to  tears. 


226 


THE    LURE 


THE   LURE 


/^OME  hither  and  behold  them,  Sweet- 
The  fairy  prow  that  o'er  me  rides^ 

And  white  sails  of  a  lagging  Fleet 
On  idle  tides. 


Come  hither  and  behold  them,  Sweet — 
The  lustrous  gloom,  the  vivid  shade, 

The  throats  of  love  that  burn  and  beat 
And  shake  the  glade. 

Come,  for  the  hearts  of  all  things  pine, 
And  all  the  paths  desire  thy  feet, 

And  all  this  beauty  asks  for  thine. 
As  I  do.  Sweet ! 

227 


EPIGRAM 


~r  OVEj  like  a  bird,  hath  perch'd  upon  a  spray 
For  thee  and  me  to  heai'ken  what  he  sings. 

Contented,  he  forgets  to  fly  away ; 

But  hush  !  .  .   .  remind  not  Eros  of  his  wings. 


228 


THE    PROTEST 


THE    PROTEST 

"DID  me  no  more  to  other  eyes 
With  wandering  worship  fare. 

And  weave  my  numbers  garhvnd-wise 
To  crown  anothei''s  hair. 

On  me  no  more  a  mandate  lay 

Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  to  obey  ! 


Bid  me  no  more  to  leave  unkissed 
That  rose-wreathed  porch  of  pearl. 

Shall  I,  where'er  the  winds  may  list. 
Give  them  my  life  to  whirl  ? 

Perchance  too  late  thou  wilt  be  fain 

Thy  exile  to  recall — in  vain. 
229 


THE    PROTEST 

Bid  me  no  more  from  thee  depart^ 

For  in  thy  voice  to-day 
I  hear  the  tremor  of  thy  heai't 

Entreating  me  to  stay  ; 
I  hear  .  .  .  nay,  silence  tells  it  best, 
O  yielded  lips,  O  captive  breast ! 


230 


"SINCE    LIFE    IS    ROUGH 


^INCE  Life  is  rough, 
Sing  smoothly,  O  Bard. 

Enough,  enough, 

To  hsivefoimd  Life  hard  ! 

No  record  Art  keeps 

Of  her  travail  and  throes. 
There  is  toil  on  the  steeps  ; 

On  the  summits,  repose. 


231 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 


THE   TOMB   OF   BURNS 

TTTHAT  woos  the  world  to  yonder  shrine  ? 
What  sacred  clay,  what  dust  divine  ? 
Was  this  some  Master  faultless-fine, 

In  whom  we  praise 
The  cunning  of  the  jewelled  line 

And  carven  phrase  ? 


A  searcher  of  our  source  and  goal, 

A  reader  of  God's  secret  scroll  ? 

A  Shakespeare,  flashing  o'er  the  whole 

Of  man's  domain 

The  splendour  of  his  cloudless  soul 

And  perfect  brain  ? 
232 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

Some  Keats^  to  Grecian  gods  allied. 
Clasping  all  Beauty  as  his  bride  ? 
Some  Shelley,  soaring  dim-descried 

Above  Time's  throng, 
And  heavenward  hurling  wild  and  wide 

His  spear  of  song  ? 


A  lonely  Wordsworth,  from  the  crowd 
Half  hid  in  light,  half  veiled  in  cloud  ? 
A  sphere-born  Milton  cold  and  proud, 

In  hallowing  dews 
Dipt,  and  with  gorgeous  ritual  vowed 

Unto  the  Muse  ? 


Nay,  none  of  these, — and  little  skilled 

On  heavenly  heights  to  sing  and  build  ! 

Thine,  thine,  O  Earth,  whose  fields  he  tilled, 

And  thine  alone. 

Was  he  whose  fiery  heart  lies  stilled 

'Neath  yonder  stone. 
233 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

He  came  when  poets  had  forgot 
How  rich  and  strange  the  human  lot ; 
How  warm  the  tints  of  Life  ;  how  hot 

Are  Love  and  Hate ; 
And  what  makes  Truth  divine,  and  what 

Makes  Manhood  sreat. 


A  ghostly  troop,  in  pale  amaze 
They  melted  'neath  that  living  gaze,- 
His  in  whose  spirit's  gusty  blaze 

We  seem  to  hear 
The  crackling  of  their  phantom  bays 

Sapless  and  sear  ! 


For,  'mid  an  age  of  dust  and  dearth. 

Once  more  had  bloomed  immortal  Avorth. 

There,  in  the  strong,  splenetic  North, 

The  Spring  began. 

A  mighty  mother  had  brought  forth 

A  mighty  man. 
234 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

No  mystic  torch  through  Time  he  bore^ 
No  virgin  veil  from  Life  he  tore ; 
His  soul  no  bright  insignia  wore 

Of  starry  birth  ; 
He  saw  vv^hat  all  men  see — no  more — 

In  heaven  and  earth  : 


But  as,  when  thunder  crashes  nigh, 
All  darkness  opes  one  flaming  eye, 
And  the  world  leaps  against  the  sky, — 

So  fiery-clear 
Did  the  old  truths  that  we  pass  by 

To  him  appeal'. 

How  could  he  'scape  the  doom  of  such 

As  feel  the  airiest  phantom-touch 

Keenlier  than  others  feel  the  clutch 

Of  iron  powers, — 

Who  die  of  having  lived  so  much 

In  their  large  hours  ? 
235 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

He  erred,  he  sinned  :  and  if  there  be 
Who,  from  his  hapless  frailties  free, 
Rich  in  the  poorer  virtues,  see 

His  faults  alone, — - 
To  such,  O  Lord  of  Charity, 

Be  mercy  shown  ! 


Singly  he  faced  the  bigot  brood. 
The  meanly  wise,  the  feebly  good  ; 
He  pelted  them  with  pearl,  with  mud ; 

He  fought  them  well, — 
But  ah,  the  stupid  million  stood. 

And  he— he  fell ! 


All  bright  and  glorious  at  the  start, 

'Twas  his  ignobly  to  depart, 

Slain  by  his  own  too  affluent  heart. 

Too  generous  blood  ; 

And  blindly,  having  lost  Life's  chart. 

To  meet  Death's  flood. 
236 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

So  closes  the  fantastic  fray^ 
The  duel  of  the  spirit  and  clay  ! 
So  come  bewildering  disarray 

And  blurring  gloom, 
The  irremediable  day 

And  final  doom. 


So  passes,  all  confusedly 

As  lights  that  hurry,  shapes  that  flee 

About  some  brink  we  dimly  see, 

The  trivial,  great. 
Squalid,  majestic  tragedy 

Of  human  fate. 


Not  ours  to  gauge  the  more  or  less. 
The  will's  defect,  the  blood's  excess, 
The  earthy  humours  that  oppress 

The  radiant  mind. 
His  greatness,  not  his  littleness. 

Concerns  mankind. 

237 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

A  dreamer  of  the  common  dreams, 
A  fisher  in  familiar  streams. 
He  chased  the  transitory  gleams 

That  all  pursue  ; 
But  on  his  lips  the  eternal  themes 

Affain  were  new. 


With  shattering  ire  or  withering  mirth 
He  smote  each  worthless  claim  to  worth. 
The  barren  fig-tree  cumbering  Earth 

He  would  not  spare. 
Through  ancient  lies  of  proudest  birth 

He  drove  his  share. 


To  him  the  Powers  that  formed  him  brave, 

Yet  weak  to  breast  the  fatal  wave, 

A  mighty  gift  of  Hatred  gave, — 

A  gift  above 

All  other  gifts  benefic,  save 

The  gift  of  Love. 
238 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

He  saw  'tis  meet  that  Man  possess 
The  will  to  curse  as  well  as  bless, 
To  pity — and  be  pitiless. 

To  make,  and  mar  ; 
The  fierceness  that  from  tenderness 

Is  never  far. 


And  so  his  fierce  and  tender  strain 
Lives,  and  his  idlest  words  remain 
To  flout  oblivion,  that  in  vain 

Strives  to  destroy 
One  lightest  record  of  his  pain 

Or  of  his  joy. 


And  though  thrice  statelier  names  decay. 

His  own  can  wither  not  away 

While  plighted  lass  and  lad  shall  stray 

Among  the  broom. 

Where  evening  touches  glen  and  brae 

With  rosy  gloom  ; 
239 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

While  Hope  and  Love  with  Youth  abide ; 
While  Age  sits  at  the  ingleside  ; 
While  yet  there  have  not  wholly  died 

The  heroic  fires, 
The  patriot  passion,  and  the  pride 

In  noble  sires  ; 


While,  with  the  conquering  Teuton  breed 
Whose  fair  estate  of  speech  and  deed 
Heritors  north  and  south  of  Tweed 

Alike  may  claim. 
The  dimly  mingled  Celtic  seed 

Flowers  like  a  flame  ; 


While  nations  see  in  holy  ti'ance 

That  vision  of  the  world's  advance 

Which  glorified  his  countenance 

When  from  afar 

He  hailed  the  Hope  that  shot  o'er  France 

Its  crimson  star ; 
240 


THE    TOMB    OF    BURNS 

While^  plumed  for  flighty  the  Soul  deplores 
The  cage  that  foils  the  wing  that  soars  ; 
And  while,  through  adamantine  doors 

In  dreams  flung  wide, 
We  hear  resound,  on  mortal  shores. 

The  immortal  tide. 


241 


EPIGRAM 


T  FOLLOW  Beauty  ;  of  her  train  am  I  : 

Beauty  whose  voice  is  earth  and  sea  and  air ; 

Who  serveth,  and  her  hands  for  all  things  ply  ; 
Who  reigneth,  and  her  throne  is  everywhere. 


242 


SONNETS,    Etc., 


FROM 


"THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


Three  of  the  folloiu'tng  sonnets   appeared  also   in    the 
Author  s  pamphlet,   "  The  Purple  East.^^ 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


TO    A    LADY 

T^AUGHTER  of  Ireland,— nay,  'twere  better  said. 

Daughter  of  Ireland's  beauty,  Ireland's  grace. 

Child  of  her  charm,  of  her  romance  ;  whose  face 

Is  legendary  with  her  glories  fled  ! 

The  shadow  of  her  living  griefs  and  dead 

I  pray  you  to  put  by  a  little  space, 

And  mourn  with  me  an  ancient  Orient  race 

Outcast  and  doomed  and  disinherited. 

Though  Wrong  be  strong,  though  thrones  be  built 

on  crimes. 
To  know  you,  I^ady,  is  to  doubt  no  more 
That  in  the  world  are  mightier  powers  than  these ; 
That  heaven,  the  ocean,  gains  on  earth,  the  shore  ; 
And  that  deformity  and  hate  are  Time's, 
And  love  and  loveliness  Eternity's. 


245 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


THE   TIRED   LION 

^PEAK    once    again^    with    that    great    note    of 

thine. 
Hero  withdrawn  from  Senates  and  their  sound 
Unto  thy  home  by  Cambria's  northern  bound. 
Not  always,  not  in  all  things,  was  it  mine 
Speak  once  again,  and  wake  a  world  supine. 
To  follow  where  thou  led'st :  but  who  hath  found 
Another  man  so  shod  with  fire,  so  crowned 
With  thunder,  and  so  armed  with  wrath  divine  ? 
Lift  up  thy  voice  once  more  !     The  nation's  heai't 
Is  cold  as  Anatolia's  mountains  snows. 
Oh,  from  these  alien  paths  of  base  rej)ose 
Call  back  thy  England,  ere  thou  too  depart — 
Ere,  on  some  secret  mission,  thou  too  start 
With  silent  footsteps,  whither  no  man  knows. 

246 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


THE   KNELL   OF   CHIVALRY 

f\  VANISHED  morn  of  crimson  and  of  gold, 

0  youth  of  roselight  and  romance^  wherein 

1  read  of  paynim  and  of  paladin. 

And    Beauty    snatched    from    ogre's    dungeoned 

hold  ! 
Ever  the  recreant  would  in  dust  be  rolled, 
Ever  the  true  knight  in  the  joust  would  win, 
Ever  the  scaly  shape  of  monstrous  Sin 
At  last  lie  vanquished,  fold  on  writhing  fold. 
Was  it  all  false,  that  world  of  princely  deeds. 
The  splendid  quest,  the  good  fight  ringing  clear  ? 
Yonder  the  Dragon  ramps  with  fiery  gorge. 
Yonder  the  victim  faints  and  gasps  and  bleeds ; 
But  in  his  merry  England  our  St.  George 
Sleeps  a  base  sleep  beside  his  idle  spear. 

247 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


A   TRIAL   OF    ORTHODOXY 

nPHE  clinging  children  at  their  mother's  knee 

Slain ;  and  the  sire  and  kindred  one  by  one 

Flayed    or    hewn    piecemeal ;  and    things    nameless 

done. 
Not  to  be  told  :  while  imperturbably 
The  nations  gaze,  where  Neva  to  the  sea, 
Where  Seine  and  Rhine,  Tiber  and  Danube  run, 
And  where  great  armies  glitter  in  the  sun, 
And  great  kings  rule,  and  man  is  boasted  free  ! 
What  Avonder  if  yon  torn  and  naked  throng 
Should  doubt  a  Heaven  that  seems  to  wink  and  nod, 
And  having  moaned  at  noontide,  "  Lord,  how  long  ?  " 
Should  cry,  "  Where  hidest  Thou  ?  "  at  evenfall. 
At  midnight,  "  Is  He  deaf  and  blind,  our  God  ?  " 
And  ere  day  dawn,  "  Is  He  indeed  at  all  ?  " 


248 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


TO   THE   SULTAN 

f^AlAVH,  I  (lid  thee  wrong.     I  hailed  thee  late 

"Abdul  the  Damned/'  and  Avould  recall  my  word. 

It  merged  thee  with  the  unillustrious  herd 

Who  crowd  the  approaches  to  the  infernal  gate — 

Spirits  gregarious^  equal  in  their  state 

As  is  the  innumerable  ocean  bird^ 

Gannet  or  gull,  whose  wandering  plaint  is  heard 

On  y\ilsa  or  lona  desolate. 

For,  in  a  world  where  cruel  deeds  abound. 

The  merely  damned  are  legion  :  with  such  souls 

Is     not     each     hollow     and     cranny     of     Tophet 

crammed  ? 
Thou  with  the  brightest  of  Hell's  aureoles 
Dost  shine  supreme,  incomparably  crowned. 
Immortally,  beyond  all  mortals,  damned. 


249 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


ON   THE   REPORTED   EXPULSION   FROM 
FRANCE   OF   AHMED   RIZA, 

A  Disaffected  Subject  of  the  Sultan 

VVTHEN,  from  supreme  disaster^  France  uprose, 
Shook  her  great  wings  and  faced  the  world  anew, 
Who,  if  not  we,  rejoiced  at  heart  to  view 
Her  proud  resiUence  after  mightiest  woes  ? 
When  'neath  the  anarch's  knife  we  saw  the  close 
Of  Carnot's  day,  amid  her  weepings  who 
Wept  if  not  we,  for  the  just  man  and  true 
That  masked  his  strength  in  most  urbane  repose  ? 
And  now  again  we  mourn,  but  not  with  her, 
Nay,  not  with  her,  though  for  her  ! — mourn  to  see 
A  tyrant.  Hell's  most  perfect  minister, 
A  man-fiend,  sun  him  in  her  countenance ; 
And  Freedom,  whose  impassioned  name  was  France, 
Lie  soiled  and  desecrate  by  France  the  Free. 


250 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


ON   A   CERTAIN   EUROPEAN   ALLIANCE 

T^HE  Hercules  of  nations,  shaggy-browed, 
Enormous-limbed,  supreme  on  Steppe  and  plain 
Dwelt  without  consort,  in  his  narrow  brain 
Nursing  wide  dreams  he  might  not  dream  aloud ; 
Till  him  the  radiant  western  Venus  vowed 
(So  strange  is  love  !)  she  pined  for :  and  these  twain 
Were  wedded — Neptune,  with  his  nereid-train. 
Gracing  the  pageant  of  their  nuptials  proud. 

Perfect  in  amorous  arts,  through  eyes  and  ears 
She  fans  her  giant's  not  too  fierce  desire. 
"  How  long,  O  Venus  .''     What  impassioned  years, 
What  ages  of  such  rapture,  ere  thou  tire  ?  " 
Thus  the  lewd  gods  :  thus  Mars  and  all  his  peers. 
Gazing  profane,  at  fault  'twixt  mirth  and  ire. 


251 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


TO    OUR   SOVEREIGN    LADY 

/^UEEN,  that  from  Spring  to  Autumn  of  Thy  reign 

Hast  taught  Thy  people  how  'tis  queenher  far 

Than  any  golden  pomp  of  peace  or  war, 

Simply  to  be  a  woman  without  stain  ! 

Queen  whom  we  love,  Who  lovest  us  again  ! 

We  pray  that  yonder,  by  Thy  wild  Braemar, 

The  lord  of  many  legions,  the  White  Czar, 

At  this  red  hour,  hath  tarried  not  in  vain. 

We    dream    that   from    Thy    words,    perhaps    Thy 

tears, 
Ev'n  in  the  King's  inscrutable  heart,  shall  grow 
Harvest  of  succour,  weal,  and  gentler  days  ! 
So  shall  Thy  lofty  name  to  latest  years 
Still  loftier  sound,  and  ever  sweetlier  blow 
The  rose  of  Thy  imperishable  praise. 


252 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 


EUROPE   AT   THE    FLAY 

f\  LANGUH^  audience,  met  to  see 

The  last  act  of  the  tragedy 

On  that  terrific  stage  afar, 

Where  burning  towns  the  foothghts  are, — 

O  Hstless  Europe,  day  by  day 

Callously  sitting  out  the  })lay  ! 

So  sat,  with  loveless  count'nance  cold, 

Round  the  arena,  Rome  of  old. 

Pain,  and  the  ebb  of  Ufe's  red  tide, 

So,  with  a  calm  regard,  she  eyed. 

Her  gorgeous  vesture,  million-pearled. 

Splashed  with  the  blood  of  half  the  world. 

High  was  her  glory's  noon  :  as  yet 

She  had  not  dreamed  her  sun  could  set ! 
253 


FROM    "THE    YEAR    OF    SHAME" 

As  yet  she  had  not  dreamed  how  soon 
Shadows  should  vex  her  glory's  noon. 
Another's  pangs  she  counted  nought ; 
Of  human  hearts  she  took  no  thought ; 
But  God,  at  nightfall,  in  her  ear 
Thundered  His  thought  exceeding  clear. 

Perchance  in  tempest  and  in  blight. 

On  Europe,  too,  shall  fall  the  night ! 

She  sees  the  victim  overborne. 

By  worse  than  ravening  lions  torn. 

She  sees,  she  hears,  with  soul  unstirred. 

And  lifts  no  hand,  and  speaks  no  word. 

But  vaunts  a  brow  like  theirs  who  deem 

Men's  wrongs  a  phrase,  men's  rights  a  dream. 

Yet  haply  she  shall  learn,  too  late, 

In  some  blind  hurricane  of  Fate, 

How  fierily  alive  the  things 

She  held  as  fool's  imaginings, 

And,  though  circuitous  and  obscure. 

The  feet  of  Nemesis  how  sure. 

254 


ESTRANGEMENT 


ESTRANGEMENT 

COj  without  overt  breach^  we  fall  apart. 

Tacitly  sunder — neither  you  nor  I 

Conscious  of  one  intelligible  Why, 

And  both,  from  severance,  winning  equal  smart. 

So,  with  resigned  and  acquiescent  heart, 

Whene'er  your  name  on  some  chance  lip  may  lie, 

I  seeiTi  to  see  an  alien  shade  pass  by, 

A  spirit  wherein  I  have  no  lot  or  part. 

Thus  may  a  captive,  in  some  fortress  grim, 

From  casual  speech  betwixt  his  warders,  learn 

That  June  on  her  triumphal  progress  goes 

Through  airhed  and  bannered  woodlands ;  while  for 

him 
She  is  a  legend  emptied  of  concern. 
And  idle  is  the  rumour  of  the  rose. 


255 


EPIGRAM 


T^HE  gods  man  makes  he  breaks ;  proclaims  them 
each 

Immortal,  and  himself  outlives  them  all ; 
But  whom  he  set  not  up  he  cannot  reach 

To  shake  His  cloud-dark  sun-bright  pedestal. 


256 


THE    TX)ST    EDEN 


THE   LOST  EDEN 

"DUT  yesterday  was  Man  from  Eden  driven. 
His  dream,  wherein  he  dreamed  himself  the  first 
Of  creatures,  fiishioned  for  eternity — 
This  was  the  Eden  that  he  shared  with  Eve. 

Eve,  the  adventurous  soul  within  his  soul ! 

The  sleepless,  the  unslaked  !    She  showed  him  where 

Amidst  his  pleasance  hung  the  bough  whose  fruit 

Is  disenchantment  and  the  perishing 

Of  many  glorious  errors.     And  he  saw 

His  paradise  how  narrow  :  and  he  saw, — 

He,  who  had  well-nigh  deemed  the  world  itself 

Of  less  significance  and  majesty 

Than  his  own  part  and  business  in  it ! — how 

Little  that  part,  and  in  how  great  a  world. 

257  R 


THE    LOST    EDEN 

And  an  imperative  world-thirst  drave  him  forth, 
And  the  gold  gates  of  Eden  clanged  behind. 

Never  shall  he  return  :  for  he  hath  sent 
His  spirit  abroad  among  the  infinitudes, 
And  may  no  more  to  the  ancient  pales  recall 
The  travelled  feet.     But  oftentimes  he  feels 
The  intolerable  vastness  bow  him  down, 
The  awful  homeless  spaces  scare  his  soul ; 
And  half-regretful  he  remembers  then 
His  Eden  lost,  as  some  gvey  mariner 
May  think  of  the  far  fields  where  he  was  bred. 
And  woody  ways  unbreathed-on  by  the  sea. 
Though  more  familiar  now  the  ocean-paths 
Gleam,  and  the  stars  his  fathers  never  knew. 


2.68 


EPIGRAM 


/^NWARD  the  chariot  of  the  Untarrying  moves  ; 

Nor  day  divulges  him  nor  night  conceals  ; 
Thou  hear'st  the  echo  of  unreturning  hooves 

And  thunder  of  irrevocable  wheels. 


259 


INVENTION 


INVENTION 

T  ENVY  not  the  Lark  his  song  divine, 

Nor    thee,    O    Maid,    thy    beauty's    faultless 
mould. 
Perhaps  the  chief  felicity  is  mine. 
Who  hearken  and  behold. 

The  joy  of  the  Artificer  Unknown 

Whose  genius  could  devise  the  Lark  and  thee — 
This,  or  a  kindred  rapture,  let  me  own, 
I  covet  ceaselessly  ! 


'260 


EPIGRAM 


T  PLUCK'D  this  flower,  O  brighter  flower,  for  thee 
There  where  the  river  dies  into  the  sea. 
To  kiss  it  the  wild  west  wind  hath  made  free  : 
Kiss  it  thyself  and  give  it  back  to  me. 


261 


AN    INSCRIPTION    AT    WINDERMERE 


AN    INSCRIPTION    AT   WINDERMERE 

/^UEST  of  this  fair  abode,  before  thee  rise 

No  summits  vast^  that  icily  remote 

Cannot  forget  their  own  magnificence 

Or  once  put  off  their  kinghood  ;  but  withal 

A  confraternity  of  stateliest  brows, 

As  Alp  or  Atlas  noble,  in  port  and  mien ; 

Old  majesties,  that  on  their  secular  seats 

Enthroned,  are  yet  of  affable  access 

And  easy  audience,  not  too  great  for  praise. 

Not  arrogantly  aloof  from  thy  concerns, 

Not  vaunting  their  indifference  to  thy  fate. 

Nor  so  august  as  to  contemn  thy  love. 

Do  homage  to  these  suavely  eminent ; 

But  privy  to  their  bosoms  wouldst  thou  be. 

There  is  a  vale,  whose  seaward  parted  lips 
262 


AN    INSCRIPTION    yVT    WINDERMERE 

Muriniir  eternally  sonic  half-divulged 
Reluctant  secret,  where  thou  may'st  o'erhear 
The  mountahis  interchange  their  confidences, 
Peak  with  his  federate  peak,  that  think  aloud 
Their  broad  and  lucid  thoughts,  in  liberal  day  : 
Thither  repair  alone  :  the  mountain  heart 
Not  two  may  enter ;  thence  returning,  tell 
What  thou    hast   heard ;  and    'mid    the   immortal 

friends 
Of  mortals,  the  selectest  fellowship 
Of  poets  divine,  place  shall  be  found  for  thee. 


263 


SONG 


SONG 

APRIL,  April, 
Laugh  thy  girhsh  laughter  ; 
Then,  the  moment  after. 
Weep  thy  girlish  tears  ! 
Api'il,  that  mine  ears 
Like  a  lover  greetest. 
If  I  tell  thee,  sweetest. 
All  my  hopes  and  fears, 
April,  April, 

Laugh  thy  golden  laughter. 
But,  the  moment  after, 
Weep  thy  golden  tears  ! 


264. 


EPIGRAM 


A  H^  vain,  thrice  vain  in  the  end,  thy  hate  and  rage. 
And  the  shrill  tempest  of  thy  clamorous  page. 
True  poets  but  transcendent  lovers  be. 
And  one  great  love-confession  poesy. 


265 


ELUSION 


ELUSION 

T^HERE  shall   I  find  thee,  Joy?  by  what  great 

marge 
With  the  strong  seas  exulting  ?  on  what  peaks 
Rapt  ?  or  astray  within  what  forest  bourn, 
Thy  light  hands  parting  the  resilient  boughs  ? 

Hast    thou    no    answer  ?  .   .  .   Ah,    in    mine    own 

breast 
Except  unsought  thou  spi'ing,  though  I  go  forth 
And    tease    the    waves     for    news    of    thee,    and 

make 
Importunate  inquisition  of  the  woods 
If  thou  didst  pass  that  way,  I  shall  but  find 
The  brief  pi'int  of  thy  footfall  on  sere  leaves 
And  the  salt  brink,  and  woo  thy  touch  in  vain. 


266 


p:pigram 


TMMURED  in  sense,  with  fivefold  bonds  confined, 
Rest  we  content  if  whispers  from  the  stars 

In  waftings  of  the  incalculable  wind 

Come  blown  at  midnight  through  our  prison-bars. 


267 


TOO    LATE 


TOO   LATE 

T^OO  late  to  say  farewell^ 
To  tuni^  and  fall  asunder^  and  forget^ 
And  take  up  the  dropped  life  of  yesterdaj'^ ! 
So  ancient,  so  far-off,  is  yesterday, 
To  the  last  hour  ere  I  had  kissed  thy  cheek  ! 

Too  late  to  say  farewell. 


Too  late  to  say  farewell. 
Can  aught  remain  hereafter  as  of  old  ? 
A    touch,  a  tone  hath  changed    the   heaven  and 

earth, 
And  in  a  hand-clasp  all  begins  anew. 
Somewhat  of  me  is  thine,  of  thee  is  mine. 

Too  late  to  say  farewell. 

268 


TOO    LATE 

Too  late  to  say  farewell. 
We  are  not  May-day  masquers,  thou  and  I  ! 
We  have  lived  deep  life,  we  have  drunk  of  tragic 

springs. 
Tis  for  light  hearts  to  take  light  leave  of  love, 
But  ah,  for  me,  for  thee,  too  late,  dear  Spirit  ! 
Too  late  to  say  fsirewell. 


2()<) 


THEY    AND    WE 


THEY   AND   WE 

YY^ITH  stormy  joy,  from  height  on  height, 

The  thundering  torrents  leap. 
The  mountain  tops,  with  still  delight. 

Their  great  inaction  keep. 

Man  only,  irked  by  calm,  and  rent; 

By  each  emotion's  throes, 
Neither  in  passion  finds  content, 

Nor  finds  it  in  repose. 


270 


EPIGRAM 


T^HINK  not  thy  wisdom  can  illume  away 
The  ancient  tanglement  of  night  and  day. 
Enough;,  to  acknoAvledge  both,  and  both  revere 
They  see  not  clearliest  who  see  all  things  clear. 


271 


THE    HEIGHTS    AND    THE    DEEPS 


THE   HEIGHTS    AND   THE   DEEPS 

T^HIS  is  the  summit,  wild  and  lone. 
Westward  the  Cumbrian  mountains  stand. 
Let  me  look  eastward  on  mine  own 
Ancestral  land. 

O  sing  me  songs,  O  tell  me  tales. 
Of  yonder  valleys  at  my  feet ! 
She  was  a  daughter  of  these  dales, 
A  daughter  sweet. 

Oft  did  she  speak  of  homesteads  there. 
And  faces  that  her  childhood  knew. 
She  speaks  no  more  ;  and  scarce  I  dare 

To  deem  it  true, 

272 


THE    HEIGHTS    AND    THE    DEEPS 

That  somehow  she  can  still  behold 
Sunlight  and  moonlight^  earth  and  sea, 
Which  were  among  the  gifts  untold 
She  cave  to  me. 


27.S 


THE    CAPTIVE'S    DREAM 


THE   CAPTIVE'S   DREAM 

X^ROM  birth  we  have  his  captives  been 

For  freedom,  vain  to  strive  ! 

This  is  our  chamber :  windows  five 

Look  forth  on  his  demesne  ; 

And  each  to  its  own  several  hue 

Translates  the  outward  scene. 

We  cannot  once  the  landscape  view 

Save  with  the  painted  panes  between. 


Ahj  if  there  be  indeed 

Beyond  one  darksome  door  a  secret  stair, 

That,  winding  to  the  battlements,  shall  lead 

Hence  to  pure  light,  free  air  ! 

This  is  the  master  hope,  or  the  supreme  despair. 

274 


TO    MRS.     HERBERT    STUDD 


TO   MRS.    HERBERT  STUDD 

AMID  the  billowing  leagues  of  Sarum  Plain 
I  read  the  heroic  songs,  which  he,  the  bard  * 
Of  your  own  house  and  lineage,  lovingly 
Hath  fashioned,  out  of  Ireland's  deeds  and  dreams. 
And  her  far  glories,  and  her  ancient  tears. 

The  sheep-bells  tinkled  in  the  fold.      Hard  by, 
A  whimpering  pewit's  desultory  wing 
Made  loneliness  more  manifestly  lone. 

Friend,  would    you   judge    your   poets,  try   them 
thus : 
Read  them  where  rolls  the  moorland,  or  the  main  ! 
Not  light  is  then  their  ordeal,  so  to  stand 


Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere. 
275 


TO    MRS.    HERBERT    STUDD 

Neighboured  by  these  large  natural  Presences  ; 
Nor  transitory  their  honour,  who,  like  him, 
No  inch  of  spiritual  stature  lose, 
Measured  against  the  eternal  amplitudes, 
And  tested  by  the  clear  and  healthful  sky. 


276 


THE    UNKNOWN    GOD 


THE   UNKNOWN   GOD 

yVTHEN,  overarched  by  gorgeous  night, 

I  wave  my  trivial  self  away  ; 
When  all  I  was  to  all  men's  sight 

Shares  the  erasure  of  the  da}' ; 
Then  do  I  cast  my  cumbering  load, 
Then  do  I  gain  a  sense  of  God. 


Not  him  that  with  fantastic  boasts 

A  sombre  people  dreamed  they  knew  ; 

The  mere  barbaric  God  of  Hosts 

That  edged  their  sword  and  braced  their  thew 

A  God  they  pitted  'gainst  a  swarm 

Of  neighbour  Gods  less  vast  of  arm  ; 

277 


THE    UNKNOWN    GOD 

A  God  like  some  imperious  king. 

Wroth,  were  his  realm  not  duly  awed  ; 

A  God  for  ever  hearkening 

Unto  his  self-commanded  laud  ; 

A  God  for  ever  jealous  grown 

Of  carven  wood  and  graven  stone  ; 


A  God  whose  ghost,  in  arch  and  aisle, 
Yet  haunts  his  temple — and  his  tomb  ; 

But  follows  in  a  little  while 
Odin  and  Zeus  to  equal  doom  ; 

A  God  of  kindred  seed  and  line  ; 

Man's  giant  shadow,  hailed  divine. 


O  streaming  worlds,  O  crowded  sky, 
O  Life,  and  mine  own  soul's  abyss, 

Myself  am  scarce  so  small  that  I 
Should  bow  to  Deity  like  this ! 

This  my  Begetter  ?     This  Avas  what 

Man  in  his  violent  youth  begot. 

278 


THE    UNKNOWN    GOD 

The  God  I  know  of,  1  shall  ne'er 

Know,  though  he  dwells  exceeding-  nigh. 

Raise  thou  the  stone  andjind  me  there, 
Cleave  thou  the  loood  and  there  am  I. 

Yea,  in  my  flesh  his  spirit  doth  flow, 

Too  neai-,  too  far,  for  me  to  know. 


Whate'er  my  deeds,  I  am  not  sure 
That  I  can  pleasure  him  or  vex  : 

I  that  must  use  a  speech  so  poor 
It  narrows  the  Supreme  with  sex. 

Notes  he  the  good  or  ill  in  man  ? 

To  hope  he  cares  is  all  I  can. 


I  hope — with  fear.      For  did  I  trust 
This  vision  granted  me  at  birth. 

The  sire  of  heaven  would  seem  less  just 
Than  many  a  faulty  son  of  earth. 

And  so  he  seems  indeed  !     But  then, 

I  trust  it  not,  this  bounded  ken. 

279 


THE    UNKNOWN    GOD 

And  dreaming  much,  I  never  dare 
To  di'eam  that  in  my  prisoned  soul 

The  flutter  of  a  trembh'ng  prayer 

Can  move  the  Mind  that  is  the  Whole. 

Though  kneeling  nations  watch  and  yearn, 

Does  the  primordial  purpose  turn  ? 


Best  by  rememl)ering  God,  say  some. 
We  keep  our  high  imperial  lot. 

Fortune,  I  fear,  hath  oftenest  come 
When  we  forgot — when  Ave  forgot  ! 

A  lovelier  faith  their  happier  crown, 

But  history  laughs  and  weeps  it  down  ! 


Know  they  not  mcII,  how  seven  times  seven, 
Wronging  our  mighty  arms  with  rust, 

We  dared  not  do  the  work  of  Iieaven 
Lest  heaven  should  hurl  us  in  the  dust? 

The  work  of  heaven  !     'Tis  waiting  still 

The  sanction  of  the  heavenly  will. 
280 


THE    UNKNOWN    GOD 

Unmeet  to  be  profaned  by  praise 
Is  he  whose  coils  the  Avorld  enfold  ; 

The  God  on  wliom  I  ever  gaze. 
The  God  I  never  once  behold  : 

Above  the  cloud,  beneath  the  clod  : 

The  Unknown  God,  the  Unknown  God. 


281 


TO    THOMAS    BAILEY    ALDRICH 


TO   THOMAS    BAILEY    ALDRICH 

In  Answer  to  his  Sonnet  "  On  Reading  '  The 
Purple  East 

TDLE  the  churlish  leagues  'twixt  you  and  me, 
Singer  most  rich  in  charm^  most  rich  in  grace  ! 
What  though  I  cannot  see  you  face  to  face  ? 
Allow  my  boast^  that  one  in  blood  are  we  ! 
One  by  that  secret  consanguinity 
Which  binds  the  children  of  melodious  race, 
And  knows  not  the  fortuities  of  place, 
y\nd  cold  interposition  of  the  sea. 
You  are  my  noble  kinsman  in  the  lyre  : 
Forgive  the  kinsman's  freedom  that  I  use, 
Adventuring  these  imperfect  thanks,  who  late. 
Singing  a  nation's  woe,  in  wonder  and  ire, — 
Against  me  half  the  wise  and  all  the  great, — 
Sang  not  alone,  for  with  me  was  your  muse. 


282 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 


THE    HOPE   OF   THE   WORLD 


TJIGHER  than  heaven  they  sit. 

Life  and  her  consort  Law ; 
And  One  whose  countenance  lit 

In  mine  more  perfect  awe, 
I  fain  had  deemed  their  peer, 

Beside  them  throned  above  : 
Ev'n  him  who  casts  out  fear, 

Unconquerable  Love. 
Ah,  'twas  on  earth  alone  that  I  his  beauty  saw. 


On  eai'th,  in  homes  of  men. 

In  hearts  that  crave  and  die. 

283 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 

Dwells  he  not  also,  then. 

With  Godhead,  throned  on  high  ? 
This  and  but  this  I  know  : 

His  face  I  see  not  there  : 
Here  find  I  him  below. 
Nor  find  him  otherwhere  ; 
Born    of    an    aching    world,     Pain's    bridegroom. 
Death's  ally. 


Did  Heaven  vouchsafe  some  sign 

That  through  all  Nature's  frame 
Boundless  ascent  benign 

Ts  everywhere  her  aim. 
Such  as  man  hopes  it  here. 

Where  he  from  beasts  hath  risen, — 
Then  might  I  read  full  clear, 

Ev'n  in  my  sensual  prison, 
That  Life  and  Law  and  Love  are  one  symphonious 

name. 

284 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 


Such  sign  hath  Heaven  yet  lent  ? 

Nay,  on  this  earth,  are  we 
So  sure  'tis  real  ascent 

And  inmost  gain  we  see  ? 
Gainst  Evil  striving  still, 

Some  spoils  of  war  we  wrest : 
Not  to  discover  111 

Were  haply  state  as  blest. 
We  vaunt,  o'er  doubtful  foes,  a  dubious  victory. 


In  cave  and  bosky  dene 
Of  old  there  crept  and  ran 

The  gibbering  form  obscene 
That  was  and  was  not  man. 

With  fairer  covering  clad 

The  desert  beasts  went  by ; 
285 


THE     HOPE    OF    THE     WORLD 

The  coucliaiit  lion  had 
More  speculative  eye^ 
And   goodlier  speech  the   birds,  than  we  when  we 
beffan. 


A  flattering  dream  were  this — 

That  Earth,  from  primal  bloom, 
With  pangs  of  prescient  bliss 

Divined  us  in  her  womb ; 
That  fostering  powders  have  made 

Our  fate  their  secret  care. 
And  wooed  us,  grade  by  grade, 

Up  winding  stair  on  stair  : 
But  not  for  golden  fancies  iron  truths  make  room. 


Rather,  some  random  throw 

Of  heedless  Nature's  die 

'Twould  seem,  that  from  so  low 

Hath  lifted  man  so  high. 
286 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 

Through  untold  a^ons  vast 
She  let  him  lurk  and  cower  : 

'Twould  seem  he  climbed  at  last 
In  mere  fortuitous  hour. 
Child  of  a  thousand  chances  'neath  the  indifferent  sky. 

vni 

A  soul  so  long  deferred 

In  his  blind  brain  be  bore. 
It  might  have  slept  unstiri-ed 

Ten  million  noontides  more. 
Yea,  round  him  Darkness  might 

Till  now  her  folds  have  drawn, 
O'er  that  enormous  night 

So  casual  came  the  dawn, 
Such  hues  of  hap  and  hazard  Man's  Emergence  wore  ! 


If,  then,  our  rise  from  gloom 

Hath  this  capricious  air, 

What  ground  is  mine  to  assume 

An  upward  process  there, 
287 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 

In  yonder  worlds  that  shine 
From  alien  tracts  of  sky  ? 

Nor  ground  to  assume  is  mine 
Nor  warrant  to  deny. 
Equals  my  source  of  hope^  my  reason  for  despair. 

X 

And  though  within  me  here 

Hope  lingers  unsubdued, 
'Tis  because  airiest  cheer 

Suffices  for  her  food  ! 
As  some  adventurous  flower. 

On  savage  ci'ag-side  grown, 
Seems  nourished  hour  by  hour 

From  its  wild  self  alone, 
So  lives  inveterate  Hope,  on  her  own  hardihood. 


She  tells  me,  whispering  low  : 

"  Wherefore  and  whence  thou  wast, 
Thou  shalt  behold  and  know 

When  the  great  bridge  is  crossed. 

288 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 

For  not  in  mockery  He 

Thy  gift  of  wondering  gave^ 

Nor  bade  thine  answer  be 
The  blank  stare  of  the  grave. 
Thou  shalt  behold  and  know  ;  and  find  again  thy  lost. 

XII 

With  rapt  eyes  fixed  afar^ 

She  tells  me  :  "  Throughout  Space, 
Godward  each  peopled  star 

Runs  with  thy  Earth  a  race. 
Wouldst  have  the  goal  so  nigh. 

The  course  so  smooth  a  field. 
That  Triumph  should  thereby 

One  half  its  glory  yield  } 
And  can  Life's  pyramid  soar  all  apex  and  no  base  .'' ' 

XIII 

She  saith  :  "  Old  dragons  lie 

In  bowers  of  pleasance  curled  ; 

And  dost  thou  ask  me  why  ? 

It  is  a  Wizard's  world  ! 

289  T 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 

Enchanted  princes  these, 

Who  yet  their  scales  shall  cast, 
And  through  his  sorceries 
Die  into  kings  at  last. 
Ambushed  in  Winter's  heart  the   rose   of  June   is 
furled." 

XIV 

Such  are  the  tales  she  tells  : 

Who  trusts,  the  happier  he  : 
But  nought  of  virtue  dwells 

In  that  felicity  ! 
I  think  the  harder  feat 

Were  his  who  should  tvithstand 
A  voice  so  passing  sweet. 

And  so  pi'ofuse  a  hand. — 
Hope,  I  forego  the  wealth  thou  fling'st  abroad  so 
free  ! 


Carry  thy  largesse  hence, 

Light  Giver  !     Let  me  learn 
290 


THE    HOPE    OF    THE    WORLD 

To  abjure  the  opulence 

I  have  done  nought  to  earn ; 

And  on  this  world  no  more 
To  cast  ignoble  slight, 

Counting  it  but  the  door 

Of  other  worlds  more  bright. 
Here,  where  I  fail  or  conquer^  here  is  ray  concern 


Here^  where  perhaps  alone 

I  conquer  or  I  fail. 
Here,  o'er  the  dark  Deep  blown, 

I  ask  no  perfumed  gale  ; 
I  ask  the  unpampering  breath 

That  fits  me  to  endure 
Chance,  and  victorious  Death, 

Life,  and  my  doom  obscure, 
Who  know  not  Avhence  I  am  sped,  nor  to  what  port 
I  sail. 


291 


AFTER    DEFEAT 


AFTER   DEFEAT* 

TDRA Y,  what  chorus  this  ?  At  the  tragedy's  end, 
what  chorus  ? 

Surely  bewails  it  the  brave,  the  unhappily  starred, 
the  abandoned 

Sole  unto  fate,  by  yonder  invincible  kin  of  the 
vanquished  ? 

Surely  salutes  it  the  fallen,  not  mocks  the  pro- 
tagonist prostrate  ? 

Hark.     "  Make  merry.     Ye  dreamed  that  a  monster 

sickened :  behold  him 
Rise,  new-fanged.      Make  merry.     A  hero  troubled 

and  shamed  you. 

*  Written  at  the  close  of  the  Grffico-Turkish,War. 
292 


AFTER  DEFEAT 

Jousting  in  desperate  lists,  he  is  trodden  of  giants 

in  armour. 
Mighty  is  Night.     Make  merry.     The  Dawn  for  a 

season  is  frustrate." 

Thus,  after  all  these  ages,  a  paean,  a  loud  jubilation. 
Mounts,  from  peoples  bemused,  to  a  heaven  refrain- 
ing its  thunder. 


293 


TO   THE   LADY   KATHARINE   MANNERS 


TO   THE   LADY    KATHARINE   MANNERS 
(With  a  Volume  of  the  Author's  Poems) 

r^N  lake  and  fell  the  loud  rains  beat, 
And  August  closes  rough  and  rude. 

'Twas  Summer's  whim^  to  counterfeit 
The  wilder  hours  her  hours  prelude. 

And  soon — pathetic  last  device 

Of  gi'eatness  dead  and  puissance  flown  ! — 
She  passes  to  her  couch  with  thrice 

The  pomp  of  coming  to  her  throne. 

But  while,  by  mountain  and  by  mere, 

Summer  and  you  are  hovering  yet, 

A  vagi-ant  Muse  entreats  your  ear  : 

Forgive  her  ;  and  not  quite  forget ! 
294 


TO   THE   LADY    KATHARINE   MANNERS 

I  would  tliat  nobler  songs  than  these 
Her  hands  might  proffer  to  your  hands. 

I  would  their  notes  were  as  the  sea's ; 
I  know  their  faults  are  as  the  sands. 

At  least  she  prompts  no  vulgar  strain  ; 

At  least  are  noble  themes  her  choice ; 
Nor  hath  she  oped  her  lips  in  vain. 

For  you  take  pleasure  in  her  voice. 

And  she  hath  known  the  mountain-spell ; 

The  sky-enchantment  hath  she  known. 
It  was  her  vow  that  she  would  dwell 

With  greatest  things^  or  dwell  alone. 

And  various  though  her  mundane  lot. 

She  counts  herself  benignly  starred, — 
All  her  vicissitudes  forgot 
In  your  regard. 

Windermere,  August  1897. 
295 


JUBILEE    NIGHT    IN    WESTMORLAND 


JUBILEE   NIGHT   IN  WESTMORLAND 

T^H ROUGH  that  majestic  and  sonorous  clay, 

When  London  was  one  gaze  on  her  own  joy, 

I  walked  where  yet  is  silence  undeflowered, 

In  the  lone  places  of  the  fells  and  meres  ; 

And  afterward  ascended,  night  being  come. 

To  where,  high  on  a  salient  coign  of  crag, 

Fuel  was  heaped  as  on  some  altar  old 

Whose  immemorial  priests  propitiated 

With  unrecorded  rites  forgotten  gods. 

Darkly  along  the  ridge  the  village  folk 

Had  gathered,  waiting  till  the  unborn  fire 

Should,  from  its  durance  in  the  mother  pine. 

Leap  ;  and  anon  was  given  the  signal :  thrice 

A  mimic  meteor  hissed  aloft,  and  fell 

All  jewels,  while  the  wondering  hound  that  couched 
296 


JUBILEE    NIGHT    IN    WESTMORLAND 

Beside  me  lifted  up  his  head  and  bayed 

At  the  strange  portent,  with  a  voice  that  called 

Far  echoes  forth,  out  of  the  hollow  vales. 

Then  the  piled  timber  blazed  against  the  clouds, 

Roaring,  and  oft,  a  monstrous  madcap,  shook 

Hilarious  sides,  and  showered  ephemeral  gold. 

And  one  by  one  the  mountain  peaks  forswore 

Their  vowed  impassiveness,  the  mountain  peaks 

Confessed  emotion,  and  I  saw  these  kings 

Doing  perfervid  homage  to  a  Queen. 

Long  watched  I,  and  at  last  to  the  sweet  dale 

Went  down,  with  thoughts  of  two    great    women, 

thoughts 
Of  two  great  women  who  have  I'uled  this  land  ; 
Of  her  that  mirrored  a  fantastic  age. 
The  imperious,  vehement,  abounding  Spirit, 
Mightily  made,  but  gusty  as  those  winds. 
Her  wild  allies  that  broke  the  spell  of  Spain ; 
And  her  who  sways,  how  silently  !  a  world 
Dwarfing  the  glorious  Tudor's  queenliest  dreams  ; 
Who,  to  her  well-nigh  more  than  mortal  task. 

Hath  brought  the  strength-in-sweetness  that  prevails, 

297 


JUBILEE    NIGHT    IN    WESTMORLAND 

The  regal  will  that  royally  can  yield  : 
Mistress  of  many  peoples,  heritress 
Of  many  thrones,  wardress  of  many  seas  ; 
But  destined,  more  melodiously  than  thus, 
To  be  hereafter  and  for  ever  hailed, 
When  our  im})erial  legend  shall  have  fired 
The  lips  of  sage  and  poet,  and  when  these 
Shall,  to  an  undispersing  audience,  sound 
No  sceptred  name  so  Avinningly  august 
As  Thine,  my  Queen,  Victoria  the  Beloved  ! 


298 


BACH,  IN  THE  FUGUES  AND  PRELUDES 


BACH,  IN  THE  FUGUES  AND  PRELUDES 


(^ONTENTEDI-Y  with  strictest  strands  confined, 
Sports  in  the  sun  that  oceanic  mind  : 
To  leap  their  bourn  these  waves  did  never  long. 
Or  roll  against  the  stars  their  rockbound  song. 


299 


APOLOGIA 


APOLOGIA 

T^HUS    much    I    know  :    what   dues    soe'er   be 

mine, 

Of  fame  or  of  obhvion,  Time  the  just, 

PunctiUously  assessing,  shall  award. 

This  have  I  doubted  never ;  this  is  sure. 

But    one    meanwhile   shall  chide   me, — one   shall 

curl 

Superior  lips, — because  my  handiwork. 

The  issue  of  my  solitary  toil. 

The  harvest  of  my  spirit,  even  these 

My  numbers,  are  not  something,  good  or  ill. 

Other  than  I  have  ever  striven,  in  years 

Lit  by  a  conscious  and  a  patient  aim. 

With  hopes  and  with  despairs,  to  fashion  them  ; 

Or,  it  may  be,  because  I  have  full  oft 
300 


APOLOGIA 

In  singers'  selves  found  me  a  theme  of  song, 

Holding  these  also  to  be  very  part 

Of  Nature's  greatness,  and  accounting  not 

Their  descants  least  heroical  of  deeds ; 

Or,  yet  again,  because  I  bring  nought  new, 

Save  as  each  noontide  or  each  Spring  is  new. 

Into  an  old  and  iterative  world, 

And  can  but  proffer  unto  whoso  will 

A  cool  and  nowise  turbid  cup,  from  wells 

Our   fathers   digged;    and    have    not    thought    it 

shame 
To  tread  in  nobler  footprints  than  mine  own. 
And  travel  by  the  light  of  purer  eyes. 
Ev'n  such  offences  am  I  charged  withal. 
Till,  breaking  silence,  I  am  moved  to  cry, 
What    would    ye,    then,    my    masters  ?     Is    the 

Muse 

Fall'n  to  a  thing  of  Mode,  that  must  each  year 

Supplant  her  derelict  self  of  yester-year  ? 

Or  do  the  mighty  voices  of  old  days 

At  last  so  tedious  grow,  that  one  whose  lips 

Inherit  some  far  echo  of  their  tones — 
301 


APOLOGIA 

How  far^  how  faint,  none  better  knoAvs  than  he 

Who    hath    been    nourished    on    their    utterance 

— can 

But  irk  the  ears  of  such  as  care  no  more 

The  accent  of  dead  greatness  to  recall  ? 

If,  with  an  ape's  ambition,  I  rehearse 

Their  gestures,  trick  me  in  their  stolen  robes, 

The  sorry  mime  of  their  nobility. 

Dishonouring  whom  I  vainly  emulate. 

The  poor  imposture  soon  shall  shrink  revealed 

In  the  ill  grace  with  which  their  gems  bestar 

An  abject  brow  ;  but  if  I  be  indeed 

Their  true  descendant,  as  the  veriest  hind 

May  yet  be  sprung  of  kings,  their  lineaments 

Will  out,  the  signature  of  ancestry 

Leap  unobscured,  and  somewhat  of  themselves 

In  me,  their  lowly  scion,  live  once  more. 

With  grateful,  not  vainglorious  joy,  I  dreamed 

It  did  so  live  ;  and  ev'n  such  pride  was  mine 

As  is  next  neighbour  to  humility. 

For  he  that  claims  high  lineage  yet  may  feel 

How  thinned  in  the  transmission  is  becoine 
302 


APOLOGIA 

The    ancient    blood    he    boasts ;    how    slight    he 

stands 
In  the  great  shade  of  his  majestic  sires. 
But  it  was  mine  endeavour  so  to  sing 
As  if  these  lofty  ones  a  moment  stooped 
From  their  still  spheres,  and  undisdainful  graced 
My  note  with  audience,  nor  incurious  heard 
Whether,  degenerate  irredeemably. 
The  faltering  minstrel  shamed  his  starry  kin. 
And  though  I  be  to  these  but  as  a  knoll 
About  the  feet  of  the  high  mountains^  scarce 
Remarked  at  all  save  when  a  valley  cloud 
Holds  the  high  mountains  hidden,  and  the  knoll 
Against  the  cloud  shows  briefly  eminent ; 
Yet  ev'n  as  they,  I  too,  with  constant  heart. 
And  with  no  light  or  careless  ministry, 
Have   served  what   seemed   the   Voice ;   and    un- 

profane. 

Have  dedicated  to  melodious  ends 

All  of  myself  that  least  ignoble  was. 

For  though  of  faulty  and  of  erring  walk, 

I  have  not  suffered  aught  in  me  of  frail 
303 


APOLOGIA 

To  blur  my  song ;  I  have  not  paid  the  world 

The  evil  and  the  insolent  courtesy 

Of  offering  it  my  baseness  for  a  gift. 

And  unto  such  as  think  all  Art  is  cold. 

All  music  unimpassioned,  if  it  breathe 

An  ardour  not  of  Eros'  lips^  and  glow 

With  fire  not  caught  from  Aphrodite's  breast, 

Be  it  enough  to  say,  that  in  Man's  life 

Is  room  for  great  emotions  unbegot 

Of  dalliance  and  embracement,  unbegot 

Ev'n  of  the  purer  nuptials  of  the  soul ; 

And  one  not  pale  of  blood,  to  human  touch 

Not  tardily  responsive,  yet  may  know 

A  deeper  transport  and  a  mightier  thrill 

Than  comes  of  commerce  with  mortality. 

When,  rapt  from  all  relation  with  his  kind. 

All  temporal  and  immediate  circumstance, 

In  silence,  in  the  visionary  mood 

That,  flashing  light  on  the  dark  deep,  perceives 

Order  beyond  this  coil  and  errancy, 

Isled  from  the  fretful  hour  he  stands  alone 

And  hears  the  eternal  movement,  and  beholds 
304 


APOLOGIA 

Above  him  and  avound  and  at  his  feet. 
In  million-billowed  consentaneousness, 
The  flowing,  flowing,  flowing  of  the  world. 

Such  momentSj  are  they  not  the  peaks  of  life  ? 

Enough  for  me,  if  on  these  pages  fall 

The  shadow  of  the  summits,  and  an  air 

Not  dim  from  human  hearth-fires  sometimes  blow, 


305 


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